


Requiem in Blue

by mibi_chan



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alien Planet, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 105,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mibi_chan/pseuds/mibi_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a distant planet, Bulma is lover and scientific coordinator for...Brolli? During the festival of Summer, things go terribly awry. Now Bulma must play the double agent, while toying with the affections of the illustrious Saiya-jin Prince Vejiita, and their Chosen One. Who will prevail in this twisted game of hearts?<br/>Will revenge trump Bulma's human soul?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Welcome to Requiem In Blue! Please enjoy, and remember I do not own any rights to these characters/places, except those occurring outside the manga or anime. Those are my creation. ^^
> 
> This re-upload of a decade-old story is revamped for goodness, with an added prologue to beef up the back story. I do apologize for the inbox bomb!
> 
> While you are enjoying this bit of Bulma/Vegeta yumminess, head on over to the We're Just Saiyan... Community on Google Plus! You will find yourself in good company, and can enjoy ample discussion of your favorite couple! Fanfic authors maymayb and Mallie-3 are the lovely admins there, and host a regular podcast with talented authors of B/V fanfic.

 

 

**Prologue**

 

**Planet Earth; Milky Way Galaxy Sector 23; Republic of Unknown Origin:  First Planetary** **Saiya-jin** **Conquest**

The earthling female who wailed on the floor beneath him was shouting something hysterically in a tongue unlike any he had ever heard.  It was choppy, utterly simple and devoid of any ceremonials, as far as he could tell.  But Raditsu was not a linguist and he had not come to this place to attempt any further communication.  Although it seemed now that his directives were being challenged.

These earthlings were different, it seemed:  intelligent, scheming.  He had noticed something different at least when he’d approached their compound.  An officer addressed him.

“I am sorry for the noise, Aash’an, suukah.  The female one with the yellow hair was injured and is not yet dead.”

Raditsu’s mouth twitched, and he sniffed the air.  Although he was not used to such a high concentration of nitrogen yet, he could still smell the blood.

“She will be soon.  What is the meaning of this delay?  I ordered the plunder and incineration of this compound over twenty minutes ago.”

He looked up at the small group of other Chikyuu-jin across the room.  They were captive, yet so defiant in their manner and expression that they appeared almost Saiya-jin.  Almost…  The officer next to him cleared his throat.

“They wish to…  Well they wish to bargain with us, Aash’an.”

Raditsu turned his eye back to his man.  The irritated amusement must have been visible on his face, he thought.  The soldier blinked and gestured respectfully to Raditsu.

“You may want to hear them, Aash’an.  The technology in this compound is far superior to what we had anticipated.”

A sharp, accusing voice from across the room danced into Raditsu’s ears.  It spat something harsh and probably insulting his way.  When he looked for the source, he saw only the color of its hair.  Blue… Blue like the cascade of water that tossed itself over the cliffs near the royal palace on his home world.  Raditsu squinted.

“She says…” The officer beside him began, tentatively, as any interpreter does, “She says if we can find the intelligence to do so, we should listen.”

Raditsu stepped away from the officer slowly, toward the voice and the hair.  It was female, that much was certain.  And Chikyuu-jin were so much like the Saiya-jin in body and face that the differences between her expression and that of a Saiya-jin female were nearly indiscernible.  She was so… angry.  Eyes that matched the color of her hair blazed with cruel hatred, and not a speck of fear.  Raditsu chuckled heartily.

“You mean if we’re not as stupid as we appear?”  He said to the officer.  The soldier behind him did not answer the question.  He only said, ‘suukah, Aash’an’.

Raditsu did not look away from those hateful eyes; they were mesmerizing.

“What is their proposal?”  He asked, watching the others around the blue one.  An older male was beside her, struggling every so often against the Saiya-jin who held him.  His eyes never left the yellow-haired one on the floor.  She had stopped wailing and squirming.

“Aash’an,” the officer said warily.  “The blue-haired female says that if we take her in exchange for the lives of her family, and these other warriors,” he gestured to some of the other Chikyuu-jin, “she will help us create containment devices for plasma.”

“ _Kusha’la!_ ”  Raditsu laughed through his disbelief.  “Ridiculous!  Only the lizard Aisu-jin have use for plasma containment.  But she will make a fine addition to the slaver ship’s bounty.  Take her anyhow.”

As he turned away, the officer interpreted, and the blue-haired one protested vehemently.

“Aash’an, the others?”  The officer inquired.

Raditsu turned back briefly.  They looked able enough, and some of the “warriors” (though he hesitated to use such a term for these weak creatures) looked strong enough at least for the stage-fight houses that entertained Saiya-jin elite classes.

“If any of you have use for house slaves you may take them.  I can respect a good trade.”  He glanced sideways at the blue female, and some officers around him chuckled heartily.

She was spitting words at them now, struggling violently against her Saiya-jin captor and kicking the air wildly.  She had some fight in her, Raditsu thought admiringly.  It was too bad she’d be wasted on a slaver…

As Raditsu turned to leave the room, he noticed it looked much like the Azelean laboratories they’d destroyed and plundered in Sector 13 three years ago.  He instructed the officer to capture as much tech as was necessary and the burn the rest.  As some idle soldiers began to comply, Raditsu heard the commotion before he saw it.

When he turned, the old one next to the blue female was protesting the violation of his lab.  In what seemed like slow motion, he broke free of his distracted captor and reached across the table in front of him.  The shard of glass there was in his hand now, and he turned purposefully to his adversary.  The Saiya-jin growled and cupped his left hand toward the old one as he advanced.  He could smell the _jal’a_.

“Wait…!”  Raditsu groaned, agitated.  Wait!” 

But it was too late now.  The growling soldier charged his energy and fired a ball of it straight at the old one’s chest.  The Chikyuu-jin flew backward against the table and groaned in pain as he slumped to the floor.  He would not survive.  The female was screaming again in her primitive tongue.  Now the other Chikyuu-jin warriors were breaking their holds and attempting to avenge the old one.  Raditsu smelled the _jal’a_ as if the room were full of only Saiya-jin.  His brow furrowed; the air was electric, and he knew.  The Chikyuu-jin warriors could harness the _jal’a_!

It seemed the other Saiya-jin were suddenly aware, and the massacre began.  Although Raditsu could sense the control, none of the Chikyuu-jin were strong enough or adept enough to best their counterparts.  When the brief struggle was over there was blood everywhere, but no other sound except the whimpering of the blue one.  Raditsu gripped the collar of his interpreting officer’s battlesuit and squeezed.

“Get these morons back outside and to the fleet ship!”  He snapped.  “Now you’ve wasted them all!”

“Suukah.”  The officer bowed his eyes and began to follow his order. 

Raditsu’s nose itched as the dust and smoke began to clear.

“Aash’an!”  Another soldier shouted to him.  “This female is still alive.”

“Then take her to the fleet ship, for all the gods’ sakes!  The slaver won’t wait for just one.  _Vash’halla!_   What a waste of time!  Take her and get the fuck out!!”

The whimpering had stopped.  But as the soldiers filed out, and the blue-haired Chikyuu-jin passed him, Raditsu thought he could feel the fire in her gaze.  He watched her, intently, and her eyes never left him.  Having never seen such eyes in all the galaxies and on all the planets he knew, Raditsu wondered then if it was an evil spell that stayed his hand and kept him from sending a spear of his _jal’a_ right through her heart.

After they had gone, and the rest of the squad began to light up the building, Raditsu did not look back to watch.

 


	2. Chapter One - Shal'gata

**Chapter One – Shal’gata**

**“Honored Slave”**

*****

**Eight Years Later**

**Planet Mizukashi; Videon Galaxy Sector 4; Dynasty of the Fourth Saiya-jin Empire: Far Southern Boundaries**

 

 

Evenings on Mizukashi were thick and heavy with humidity. The sky was dim with violet light even deep into the night, as the planet’s short but wide orbit made it impossible for any face of the planet to escape its sun entirely during rotation.  But in early hours of the evening one could spot streaks of red and indigo across the northern horizon, as though finally the sun would rest.

Relentlessly though, the Capital City of Geishan now glimmered in the dimmed, sunlit evening. It was the Eve of Shak’ala, the First Day of Summer. Brolli had not forgotten his heritage, though he had been on Mizukashi nearly seven years this month. In fact, since his King had presented him with sovereign governorship of this planet, he had taken all measures possible to integrate the elaborate, sophisticated culture of the Saiya-jin with the exotic, indulgent culture of the Mizuka-jin. Since that fateful day of his ascension, Brolli had longed to set foot upon Vejiita-sei once again; to feel the smooth orange sand of her southern beaches, and gaze upon her blood red sun would soothe every nerve in his body.

After taking a deep breath of the thick, humid atmosphere, Brolli uncrossed his arms from his broad, bare chest and used one hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. His fingers brushed the jeweled diadem that graced his forehead:  a reminder and symbol to all Saiya-jin that he was to be revered.  And as far as the Mizuka-jin were concerned, he was second only to the gods they worshipped with wine

Of course, he reminded himself that he was not a god, or Mizuka-jin.  Though it was difficult on Mizukashi; Saiya-jin royalty and nobility were treated as though their very presence was an offering to the gods themselves. Since the Saiya-jin had discovered this planet, rich in natural resources and high in entertainment value, it had been a unanimous vote to stop orders to purge Mizukashi and welcome it into the sovereign worlds of the Empire.  The Saiya-jin would never be known to pass up a generous stroke to their collective ego.

Thus, on this the Eve of Shak’ala, Brolli was fully prepared to welcome his guests to the Governor's palace to take part in his celebration. Without a doubt, the celebration would last well into the night.  There would be food, drink, music and dance. However, the most exciting of all the festivities this year would be the visit from the Royal House of Vejiita-sei.  Every year, Vejiita-Zarshon would choose one sovereign in the empire and make an esteemed appearance at the Shak’ala festivities. Brolli had been no less than ecstatic to extend the invitation, and had prepared to make the King's stay enjoyable in every sense of the word.

In truth Brolli was more excited to meet the King's son, Vejiita-Zarshi. Rumor had it that the young prince, who was just one year his junior, had already surpassed the strength and energy level of his father. He had hoped beyond hope that the Prince may ask him to become his _shoano_ , his mentor, and in so doing honor Brolli’s House for a thousand years. Brolli's ascension to the level of Super Saiya-jin had, however, already made a great impact on his name. At the age of twenty-eight, he outranked and outclassed thousands of warriors that were twice his age. It had never seemed to shake the humility his mother had taught him though, or the rigid discipline with which his father had raised him.  And though they had been killed during a routine purge many years ago, he would not forget this upbringing.  It showed, also, in his sovereign governorship of Mizukashi.

The Mizuka-jin respected him; more than that, they honored him. Word had been raised that he was the most benevolent ruler in a thousand years, perhaps even in the line of Mizuka-jin rulers who had come before the Saiya-jin. True, it was reflected in the utmost of reverence they held for him. However, there had always been an underlying resentment in some of the older Mizuka-jin, he knew. One could spot it with a trained eye. The older ones remembered the days when the Saiya-jin Empire had brought with it the chaos and destruction of a thousand gods. They had purged, scorned and committed genocide throughout the galaxy, leaving only a few planets intact for their exploitation. It had left a black eye on the Empire for many years, and Brolli had had a hard time convincing the older ones that times had changed.

In any event, it seemed as though many things had settled down over the past seven years. When he was twenty-one and less knowledgeable of other cultures, it had been difficult. Now, it seemed he knew them as well as he knew his own people...he could predict them. Being able to manipulate the mob was as important, if not more so than being powerful physically. Strength of the mind was an essential asset, and he intended to become a master at that as well.

A noise from his room caught his attention, and he turned, facing the chamber from the balcony on which he stood. Brolli crossed his arms again as he caught sight of her from the doorway inside. A woman, similar in physiology to him in every way but the glorious tail, shut the door behind her and leaned against its wooden surface.

The shimmering white dress she wore reached her ankles, but formed perfectly to every curve. The halter of its jeweled neckline decorated her swan-like neck as if it were a fine prize. Nevertheless, he had come to realize after knowing her as a servant, and finally his lover that she was most certainly not a prize. The deep blue of her eyes that matched the exotic beauty of her hair were a fine, innocent disguise to the woman she truly was. Once, she had been a Chikyuu-jin refugee; detained during her planet's purge by the officers responsible for its destruction.   She was quickly recruited for science division research due to her brilliant mind.  Brolli had not discovered the true genius of her mind until he'd punished her one day for constructing an elaborate escape device in her servant quarters. After this incident, he'd realized then that such a woman was not fit for slavery...

She had come to him two years ago as a gift from his friend Raditsu, a high-ranking officer in the Assault Battalion of Vejiita-sei’s Royal House. He remembered the man's elaborate description of her then, as a wild and insatiable thing that would not bend to the will of even the Kaioshin. He smirked vaguely, and approached her now. It was true; everything Raditsu had said had been _more_ than true. Growing to learn who she was had always been a true mystery...no less than frustrating. Brolli found that she had become a drug to him; something entirely toxic to his very existence, and yet he craved it. He would escort her tonight to the festivities.  In fact he half hoped that she would make a particularly favorable impression upon Vejiita-Zarshon if she impressed him with her scientific mind.

But make no mistake; her genius had become as deadly as the woman's tongue and heart.  He had found, over the past two years that Bulma possessed little to none of the qualities that graced the heart of a typical Saiya-jin female. In fact, she was quite the opposite. But it was what he enjoyed in her so much - the very focal point of his desire for her. Brolli supposed, every now and again, that the reason for her heard-heartedness had come from watching her home planet destroyed by Saiya-jin warriors. Not only her planet, but also her family--all had been destroyed save herself and a few others. However, he'd always wondered how a woman like Bulma had escaped the grips of a man such as Raditsu, and why he had given her to him so willingly.  He pushed the thought from his mind as her voice finally graced the walls of the chamber.

“You look nauseatingly handsome this evening, Shakan Brolli.”  Her exquisitely seductive voice caressed his ears like the hand she had laid on his waist. Brolli chuckled and let his smile widen.

“Do I?”  He asked, the simple, husky inflection of his voice caused her body to tense.  He could see it clearly on her face. Slowly, he leaned one palm flat against the door and leaned into her neck, breathing deeply of the soft, fruit-like fragrance that graced her skin. He felt more than heard her laugh very quietly.

“Undoubtedly." Her voice sounded like the low toned birds of early morning on this planet, their sultry voices mingling with the breeze of sunrise. He felt a growl rumble deep in his throat, and he brushed his lips against her skin.

“I approve of the dress you’re wearing," he murmured quietly, laying a hand on the curvy surface of her silken hip. After allowing his fingers to trace lazy patters around the top of her thigh, she laughed again, a sort of moaning sound.

“I’m flattered, My Lord, but the reason I came back here was to change."

Brolli lifted his head and eyed her lazily, then smiled. “Why not this one, then?"

Bulma smirked girlishly and stepped away from him, earning her a moan of disapproval. Slowly, she made her way across the red-carpeted room and towards the immense walk-in closet that housed her wardrobe. Closing her fists over the carved doorknobs, she flung the doors open with a great sigh of what seemed to be boredom.

“It just doesn’t flatter me well enough, does it?” She paused, shuffling through the ornate gowns as if they were all just peasant's clothing. Brolli chuckled aloud then and clenched his fists, dematerializing, and then reappearing behind her. After sliding his fingers inside the low open back of her dress, she gasped and spun around to face him.

“Did I not ask you to stop doing that?” She hissed indignantly. Brolli smiled and brushed his mouth to hers, feeling the addiction to her grow with every passing second.

The way in which her skin slid across his fingers, the way her hair glossed and fell down past her shoulders and brushed at his face; he swore he could see the inner workings of her devious little mind through the glare of blue in her eyes.

“Yes you did,” he said finally.  “And the dress flatters you quite nicely.  Unless you’re worried about impressing anyone other than me tonight, why bother changing?”

Bulma laughed; a short, clear and heartless tone indicating that she was truly amused by his statement.

"Are you the only one I should worry about impressing?"

Brolli felt himself become slightly angered by her question. True, he knew her nature by now, and she was not one to be controlled. But he found himself increasingly more and more jealous of any interactions she had with males other than him. He knew it was not healthy, but somehow it didn’t matter much anymore. A new goal for him was to enslave the wild thing's heart.  And if he could find a way to do it, the gods knew he would.

To give life to his feelings, he placed both hands on the middle of her torso and squeezed heavily enough so that she sighed, leaning into his body. With one deft hand, he reached behind her and flicked open the jeweled holster of her dress, leaving the chain of it to pool against his chest.

“I pity whatever man you _are_ trying to impress tonight, even if it is me.” A grin as wide as a cat's swept across his mouth and subsequently released the lines from her face. He watched as she began to smile once more, and she leaned upwards to capture his mouth in the sweetest and deadliest of kisses ever known to him.

Her mouth was like a trap; she lured men in with the fruit of it, and then poisoned them with her viper-like tongue. The thought of all the challenges he met before her was something of a turn-on, and he returned the passionate kiss with every intention of ravaging her right there in the closet.

An insistent knock at his chamber door shocked his searing body into submission, and he growled inside her mouth. When she did not release him, he decided that the knock could be ignored. She only moaned in protest under his kiss and gripped the back of his neck, urging him to continue. He complied by shoving her against the wall in a movement that was as savage as it was instinctual to him.

The knock at his door became excruciatingly loud, and it panged inside his aroused body like a knife to the gut. Enraged, he tore his mouth from hers and leaned his head back, only to have his neck assaulted by her lips.

“What the hell is it--!” He bellowed, feeling the fur on his tail ruffle with irritation. With seemingly unmerciful tactics, Bulma reached behind him to catch the sensitive, shaking appendage in her soft fingers. He gasped and let his eyes roll back into his head, and then the voice behind the chamber door shouted with insistence.

“Shakan!  Shakan-kalan! Aoraná!”

Brolli groaned under the pleasure of having his tail stroked and the frustration of having been interrupted.

“I said what do you WANT?” He screamed again, his last syllable a hiccupping grunt. Bulma giggled evilly into his neck, then dragged her wet tongue down the center of it. He pushed her more forcefully against the closet wall and resumed the hungry devouring of her mouth until she lifted herself up and enclosed his waist within her thighs.

“Shakan-kalan! The Saiya-jin Royal Court sent word that their convoy will arrive in less than ten minutes! They will await your welcoming party, Sir!”

Brolli’s lips stopped what they were doing, and his face went slack with realization. _Ten minutes?_  It seemed his heart had stopped functioning until he heard Bulma's giggle once again. He stood, transfixed before her for a moment, and then he leaned out of the closet once more.

“That's _amazing_ now would you LEAVE?"

After a few seconds of silence had gone by, he rolled his eyes again and felt the gentle insistence of her fingertips on his bare chest.  She traced the golden collar that adorned his throat and grinned the way children sometimes do when they are formulating a plan.

“My, my... Terrible situation you’re in, Shakan.”  Her voice was as smooth as ice, and as searing as fire in one breath.  “You’ve got ten minutes until your King arrives and a raging hard-on the size of Vejiita-sei herself.  What is your next move?” Her eyes widened, their blue depths beckoning to him the way a cat hypnotizes its prey. Brolli felt his nerves strike an edge, and her words pierced him more deeply than he had expected them to.  More than he had wanted them to…

“Is it always a game to you?” He hissed, leaning into her face and drawing out an answer from her vicious lips.

She seemed to cower only for a second, and reprieve seemed to wait for him on the horizon. But when her stare hardened again, and her lips pursed gently, he knew he had lost once more, and it enraged him. And the worst element in all of it was that she could see it... she could see the anger and the frustration in his eyes and she reveled in it.  She simply bathed in it.

“Always, _Shakan._ "  She whispered, gripping the golden collar and tugging forward to bring his mouth back to hers. The look of determination and total control on her face was enough to send the most compassionate of men into a flying rage.  Instead he forced himself to remain relatively calm; to take some of the aggression and filter it into nothing more than his sex drive.

Yes, everything was a game to her, including him. But he felt the growing urge to beat her at her own game; to finally tame her, as Raditsu had been unable to. Perhaps it would take many years.  But he found himself discovering that he would not mind waiting so much. She had become his drug.  He had become her plaything.  He promised himself that by the end of summer, the roles would be reversed.

 


	3. Chapter Two - Ki Taluk'san

**Chapter Two:  Ki Taluk’san**

**_“I welcome you.”_ **

 

The warm, wet air of Mizukashi swam in his ears like a stagnant pool of water.  This planet reminded him very much of a steaming pot.  It sickened him.  Prince Vejiita shrugged the sweat away from the back of his neck and rolled his eyes as the Royal House was welcomed onto this cesspool of a planet.  One full month here: he swore he would not live through it.  The only thing keeping him moderately sane at this moment was the prospect of meeting and sizing up this man known as Brolli.  After a few of the nobility gave their greetings, Vejiita watched as his father turned to face him.  Vejiita-Zarshon’s voice echoed softly in the quiet hall.

“It seems as though our early arrival was unprecedented.”

The Prince snorted indignantly and crossed his solid, lean arms over his chest.  He did not reply.  The hall bustled with nervous glances and whispering admiration.  Vejiita rolled his eyes and ruffled his tail disapprovingly at two pointing and giggling Mizuka-jin females.  After turning away from them, he noticed many escorts and noblemen being motioned through the doors of the ship hangar.  The huge, electronic boom of the doors hitting the wall plunged into Vejiita and made meat out of his eardrums.  He flinched, then felt himself growl in disapproval. Very slowly, the group of noblemen parted to reveal a much larger man, so unlike the others that Vejiita wondered if he was indeed Saiya-jin.

Mizuka-jin natives were easily recognizable throughout the galaxy. Their bluish skin and fish-like noses protruded obviously from a flat, yet slightly rounded face. They stood slightly taller than the average Saiya-jin;  only a few such as his shoano Nappa were taller than Mizuka-jin.  But the Saiya-jin who now stood intertwined with a few of their richest citizens was taller than Nappa-Shoano… a giant in the eyes of any Saiya-jin.  His purple-black hair shot out from his head in typical style of his race:  outwards and down until it hit his shoulders. The piercing black of his eyes matched every member of the Royal Party and its guard, and his build could only suggest one thing; this was the Legendary, the Super Saiya-jin Brolli.

Visually Vejiita was awed, but he was eager to test his limits against such a man.  Perhaps the stay on Mizukashi would not be so monotonous after all.  Vejiita stepped forward with his father and uncrossed his arms.  The mammoth Saiya-jin approached them hurriedly and placed his palms flat against each other, then bowed his head and upper torso in greeting.

“Zarshon-kalan, ki taluk’san.”  Brolli lifted his head and made eye contact with him, then bowed his head again and repeated the phrase of welcome to the Prince.  Vejiita nodded his head sharply and examined the stance of the man before him.   _Confident in every way…as it should be._  Once Brolli had stood straight and squared his shoulders, he smiled to the King.

“Welcome to Mizukashi, Highness.  We are honored by your presence.  Every citizen of Geishan has made efforts to make your stay here enjoyable.”

Vejiita’s father nodded his head slowly and smiled gruffly through his thick facial hair.

“Tagaht, Kassha’hal.  We are honored to be in your presence this night.  I’m sure our stay here on Mizukashi will be everything we expect from a leader such as you.”

Vejiita smirked again as Brolli bowed deeply, the look of pure, unadulterated pride that graced the face of so many of his own kind was plastered brightly on his face.

“Dulok tagaht, Zarshon-kalan. You honor me with such words.”  He stood again, and Vejiita saw him clench his fists as the smart-assed scowl on his face faded.  “I – fear I must apologize for my slightly late arrival.”  He turned slightly and motioned to the exit of the ship hangar.

Vejiita crossed his arms again and followed his father, squinting as he caught his first glimpses of the Governor’s Palace.  Brolli continued, “I’m afraid I wasn’t informed of your ship’s descent into Mizukashi’s atmosphere until about ten minutes ago.  And I was…unavoidably detained.”

He turned his head and smirked boyishly at the King, to which the Prince chuckled quite loudly and wondered if anyone else was aware that the man was practically bathed in the scent of a female.  Not a Saiya-jin female though.  Something else – something exotic and tempting.

The others around him responded to his chuckle as if they had been hesitant to do so before his initiation.  The King snapped his head around toward his son, giving him a look of utter disapproval.  Vejiita felt his lips twitch in further amusement.  Shakan Brolli craned his neck around to the Royal Party and smiled unabashedly, much to Vejiita’s surprise.

“Pleasures of the flesh are highly distracting.  You agree, Zarshi-kalan?”

Vejiita’s left eyebrow raised in curiosity and admiration. The man certainly knew how to address his superiors in camaraderie without pissing them off.

“Yes of course, Shakan.  Quite highly distracting.”  Vejiita felt his teeth grind together in blind anticipation of the man’s fighting power.

When Brolli turned again to speak to his father and head out of the hangar, Vejiita quickly tapped the frequency button on the side of his scouter and waited calmly for the reading to center in on Brolli.  When it was finished Vejiita smirked once again.  At rest his power level was at 400,000.   Impressive—and highly admirable for a resting read.  Vejiita’s power level topped off at about 250,000 when he was at rest, also highly impressive, and more powerful that his own father.  Immediately, Vejiita vowed to learn of Brolli’s power, to master it as he had.  The _Kassha’hal_ … chosen one.

Once they entered the main hall, Vejiita was grudgingly taken aback by the ornate beauty of the mansion.  Its red painted stone walls stretched out into an infinity of halls and walkways, decorated by several heavily decorated doorways and archways framed in thick gold cords of metal.  At the end of the hall lay a huge doorway, opened now and bearing the fruits that hours of labor had cost.  It was adorned colorfully by the red and black banners traditional of summer celebration on Vejiita-sei.

Vejiita was impressed at the integration of Saiya-jin culture on this rather out-of-the-way industrial planet. Inside the huge room they were approaching, a mass of people--Mizuka-jin and Saiya-jin alike--were assembled, poised and gazing towards the entrance apprehensively.  Vejiita pulled at the collar of his spandex under-suit and groaned deep within his throat.  This was going to be a long evening.

Shakan Brolli turned to the Royal Party again and smiled that winning smile as they came to the entrance of the main dining hall.  He raised his heavy, powerful arms and gestured with huge hands at the doorway.

The mass of people opened to allow them entrance into the grand hall. Vejiita’s senses were momentarily overwhelmed by a variety of elaborate costumes and colorful headdresses, each one reminiscent of age-old Saiya-jin cultural riches. His nose wrinkled as incense permeated the air and caught his sense of smell off guard.

The entire room simply screamed with culture and celebration. Vejiita was slightly comforted by its familiar air, and then Shakan Brolli appeared near the front of the group again, motioning towards a large dais that was situated near the head of the room.

“Aoraná,” his voice was an uncanny combination of comfort and pleasure.  “I offer your Royal Party all the hospitality I can offer tonight.”  He gestured towards the elaborate chair on the dais.  It had a look of well-worn use about it, suggesting that the Kassha’hal used it quite often.

“Tagaht,” Vejiita-Zarshon smiled and gratefully took a seat.

The Prince grunted softly and crossed his arms once again, taking a position on the left side of his father. The Royal Guard followed suit and kept a fair distance around the dais to survey the room.  Brolli stood on the opposite side of the King,

“A question, Zarshon-kalan. I have a friend, an officer in your Elite Assault Brigade. His name is Raditsu.  Has he not accompanied you to Mizukashi?”

Vejiita-Zarshon raised a curious eyebrow to his host.

“Aash’an Raditsu will be late in joining our party on Mizukashi. He was slightly detained by matters of state. And actually after the festivities, Shakan, I hope you will allow me to discuss them with you.”

Brolli’s body seemed to tense, and the Prince clenched his fists under the rocks of his arms. He smirked again. _Gods, the man’s ki was so volatile that it shifted with even the slightest mood change._ Vejiita heard Brolli agree wholeheartedly with his father, and then the huge man stepped in front of them.

“There is a plentiful amount of food and drink available, Zarshon-kalan. I hope you will find it to your liking. In the meantime, I’ll introduce you to my Science & Tech Staff.”

The King’s face lit up immediately, and Vejiita felt another chuckle rise in his throat. This time he suppressed it wisely.  Brolli certainly did have this affair plotted out nicely. Was he aware already of the King’s passion for matters of science and technology? The King shifted to the front of his chair and tightened his fingers around its armrests.

“Wonderful!”  He exclaimed as his armor made a slight creaking noise against the material of the chair.  “I would enjoy that greatly.”  He rumbled like a comforting old man, though truly he was far from it.

Vejiita watched Brolli’s face change as well, but it was not delight that painted itself across the features of the Chosen One. He seemed pleased, but in a way Vejiita had yet to decipher. Brolli smiled then, a smile Vejiita found to be thoroughly mysterious and irritating.

“Then I guarantee you will be pleased with my staff, Zarshon-kalan. They are among the best in the galaxy.”

The King nodded sharply, a look of positive apprehension on his face, and watched as Shakan Brolli bowed respectfully and turned to leave. Vejiita felt a humming ball of excitement overtake his body for a brief second or two, and he stepped forward a bit.

“Kassha’hal?” His voice rang out despite the massive amount of noise that was stuffing the crowded hall like cotton.

Brolli’s body tensed violently, and Vejiita wondered if anyone else had noticed. The Prince’s voice was a mixture of amusement and subtle repartee.  It was a voice not easily ignored. Brolli stopped his footsteps and turned back to face the Royal Party. Vejiita-Zarshi’s coal black eyes studied him from the short distance they stood apart and bore into him like a probing vessel.

“Zarshi-kalan?” He asked.  Vejiita noticed his attempt to make his tone seem equally as intimidating.

The Prince stepped forward some more; his much smaller form seemed to be the frame of a giant simply from the way in which he carried himself. Vejiita-Zarshi crossed his arms and smirked, letting his tail uncoil from its position around his waist.  It ruffled and shook ever so slightly. A few Saiya-jin who were close enough to see it, and those who now stood around the King with wide eyes, gasped softly and brought hands to their open mouths. It was an open challenge, and every Saiya-jin present knew it.   Vejiita tilted his chin up a bit and smiled.

“Your resting read is most impressive. I am interested to see just how powerful you are in your most ascended state. Will you show me, Kassha’hal, after the festivities are over and we have ample time to test our limits?”

Vejiita felt his body surge with his genetic predisposition for finding pleasure in a fight; as well as the great curiosity he held in regards to this anomaly of a Saiya-jin.  Brolli suddenly let his own tail uncoil from his waist and ruffled it in the same manner as the Prince’s had a moment earlier. The Saiya-jin around them began to smile and point conspicuously.

“It would honor me greatly, Zarshi-kalan.”

Vejiita-Zarshi pressed his fist to his chest in ritual action and then held an outstretched palm towards Brolli. The governor smiled broadly and repeated the action.

“Denshak, kuwaitta.” The Prince stated clearly and without hesitation, the deep and heavy tones of his voice echoing in the hushed hall.

“Dentalak, kuwaitta.” He accepted, and the two clutched each other’s hands into a fist. Vejiita locked eyes with Brolli as he felt the amount of strength in the other man’s grip.   _Gods, he’s even flaunting his power during the challenge!  What a cocky bastard!_  Brolli smiled once more, bowed deeply and turned on his heel to exit the main hall.  Vejiita’s eyes followed his movements with unyielding intensity.

 

#

 

Bulma placed one palm against the other and bowed gracefully until she was ninety degrees parallel with the floor. When she rose again to face the group of Mizuka-jin scientists before her, she recited clearly and loudly:

“Kiis taluk’san, Zarshon-kalan.”

The aliens before her repeated the phrase with distinct accuracy. The Mizuka-jin were known for their above average abilities with foreign language. Bulma allowed herself a smile as she admired her skills of instruction.  No one _really_ knew just how brilliant she was, not even Brolli.  And it was a good thing, she thought.  It meant that he gave her more slack on an invisible leash, so to speak.

But those thoughts were pushed out of her mind as she caught another Saiya-jin walking by their preparing group.  The tailed warriors looked very much like human beings, save for their immeasurable strength, oddly thick hair and furry appendages. She had found pleasure in three of their race so far, and had succeeded in making them grovel at her feet.  It was as it should be; it was her small victory against these vicious beasts, who had invaded and destroyed her planet without a whit of respect for their galactic treaties.

Happy wasn’t truly the word to define Bulma’s life after the destruction of Chikyuu and her subsequent enslavement.  But perhaps, in the few months it had taken her to enter her first master’s house, amusing would have been a more appropriate word. Her first lover had been the head of a science ward on board the Saiya-jin slaver ship, _Mahelka_.  After convincing him that she was of more use in the science wing than in the pleasure slave confines, she had been well on her way to making a name for herself among her captors rather than a reputation for sexual prowess.

After impressing many members of the Elite Guard with her knowledge of high tech weaponry, they had agreed to keep her confined to the science divisions on Vejiita-sei. To her chagrin, she was still to be kept as a slave.  But after being separated from her first master, the second had not come very far behind. As she had still remained a slave after her stationing on Vejiita-sei, her services were still required of for any and all of her superiors.

Bulma had met Raditsu on Chikyuu, his squad being responsible for the destruction of her home, her lab, all her existence.  But she had not seen him since that day until a squad under his command had been performing a mere safety inspection in the science buildings, planet side on Vejiita-sei.  They were there for the expressed purpose of stopping the kind of thing she was doing.

That night, in her bunk cell, she had finished putting together notes for construction of a plasma rifle that would most assuredly be able to blow the brains out of any Saiya-jin’s thick skull, regardless of his “ki” reading, energy they harnessed, called “jal’a”.  After the squad officers had discovered her work, the Captain Raditsu had been summoned. She still remembered the look on his face to this day as he gazed at her; standing in the corner of her cell and glaring at them as if none of them could have killed her…none of them.

He bought her then, purchased her as his own house slave and given her everything in his power to give someone with her status.  Aash’an Raditsu had not been unkind, if she was being fair, and her decision to become his lover had not been imprudent.  He was skilled in that area, and being a bit more intelligent than most Saiya-jin he had also allowed her more stimulating conversation because he knew it pleased her.  He’d taught her all she knew about Saiya-jin history, culture and semantics.  She smiled to herself, remembering the first night she’d come to him privately… 

In truth, that evening, she had realized that since she lacked the physical power and prowess of the Saiya-jin scumbags, then she would have to learn to defeat them using her mind—the only instrument she knew she could display confidence in.  But since the blockheaded warriors are not aware of much else besides a fight, a good fuck, and a good slaughter—of those three things Bulma knew she could manipulate them using the second.

It was amusing, truly, to see how ridiculously supple and compliant a male Saiya-jin warrior could become under the gentle touch of a woman’s fingers. It made her wonder why the females of their kind did not use it to their advantage more often. Perhaps they did not understand how to utilize it.  It was obvious that the females were just as aggressive and savage as their male counterparts. She had learned that the hard way even before meeting Raditsu.

She still remembered the day he’d admitted to being in love with her, and how she had laughed in his face…  Bulma would not soon forget the hurt in the big warrior’s eyes, and the swell of triumph that had so unexpectedly filled her heart.

Raditsu’s next assignment after that had been to inspect recent activity on the planet Mizukashi, a humid planet in the far eastern reaches of the Videon Galaxy. The King wished to know how the governorship was faring; given the fact that Mizukashi had always been a chore to manage in the past. His offhanded comment about going had piqued her curiosity, and when she’d shown interest in studying the technology of the Mizuka-jin, his face had suddenly become slack with realization of what he must do. Bulma had seen it then; the desperate realization that a vulnerability to his powerful façade had no place in his home, and the need to be rid of her mocking lips once and for all.

It thrilled her, excited her, and she knew now that she must do all in her power to never again be taken down by another of his kind—even if it meant giving up everything in body that she had been taught never to give so easily.

It had been hell on Vejiita-sei after leaving the science division, and since she had then been given permission to accompany her master to Mizukashi, she had said farewell to the Saiya-jin home world once and for all. It amused her that, even on the three-day journey to Mizukashi, Raditsu had twice come practically on his hands and knees to her bed…his lovemaking more and more awkward as each night passed

Once on Mizukashi, she quickly realized that the people there were more interested in technology than the average Chikyuu-jin had been.  She knew then that it had to be her new home, whether she had to go down fighting or not.

Meeting Brolli was the start of her ascent to pure freedom.  Bulma could still feel his eyes on her when she turned her back on him just as she had felt them the very first time he’d seen her. And she had to admire the balls the warrior had; even after discovering that she belonged to another, he was no less persistent in capturing her affections.

After three days of constant pursuit, inconspicuous touches and whispers, she had willingly--and most gladly--accepted the invitation to his bed. And besides, knowing these monkeys tendency to wither against the body of a woman they were sleeping with, she had been hopeful that the same sequence of events, which had transpired during her affair with Raditsu, would certainly occur in this one.

It surprised Bulma how quickly Raditsu had given her up.  But then again, not so much really. The man was afraid of her, and what she had done to his superiority, and she was curious even now as to whether or not he had come to Mizukashi tonight with the Royal Party. For two years she had lived on Mizukashi. Worked there to give the natives every piece of knowledge she could give…utilize her skills as much as she could given her circumstances. And for nearly two years she had been Brolli’s lover:  his _free_ lover.

It was exciting in many ways, only not the most obvious. True, he was not lacking when it came to matters of lovemaking; he was handsome, cut like stone and passionately addicted to making a woman scream his name. But, as she had planned from the beginning, it had gotten to the point now that he no longer held domination in the bedroom, or in both of their minds. And when he tried, she was quick to cut him down.

There were times when she felt sorry for the man, for he was certainly the most compassionate Saiya-jin warrior she had ever met. And once she had learned that this had been the man practically worshipped by all of his people as the Super-Saiya-jin, the Kassha’hal, the Chosen One, it had been a shock to understand why he had been so very easy to tame.

She knew she had regrettably grown a soft spot for the overgrown lug…  But in each instance of feeling any sort of emotion towards him, Bulma shoved it away and burned it as she would have burned leaves in the autumn on Chikyuu. Perhaps the time was drawing near for once and for all.

The Mizuka-jin before her were smiling, talking with themselves as they waited for the Governor to summon them into the hall. Bulma’s face lit up with pretentious pride as the doors to the hall opened and the guards saluted Brolli as he exited the crowded hall.  The look of pride was also painted on his handsome face, and she noticed how his tail had just found its place back around his powerful waist. Once he was close enough to speak, he grinned.

“I hope you’re as anxious to meet the King as he is to meet you,” he sneered playfully into the heady atmosphere. Bulma raised her eyebrows and shrugged gently.  O _f course I’m anxious to meet the King of the Apes_ _!_

“Oh, I’m dying of excitement, Shakan!” She practically sang the words in reply as he stood close enough to her that she could feel the scent of virile power on his body. It aroused her unexpectedly. She shook her head as he spoke again, this time into her ear.

“I’m sure he’s never seen a division leader quite as lovely as you are.  Make a good impression for me, would you love?” His hand closed around her backside discreetly, and then one finger trailed its way up to her waist and rested on the small of her bare back.

She had since changed into a shimmering sky blue gown that complimented her coloring quite nicely. It was no secret that she looked absolutely ravishing, but Bulma intended to torment as many Saiya-jin males as possible this evening, perhaps even Brolli… Until she could torment him in his own bedroom of course. Bulma smirked beautifully and raised her eyes to meet his with deadly accuracy. She wanted to laugh at how submissive he seemed underneath his powerful body.

“I always make good impressions, Shakan.”  She murmured the words as close to his face as she possibly could.  Brolli smiled in return, his lips twisted in a way only she could have understood. He chuckled softly.

“I won’t disagree with you, Lady.”  He paused and stepped away from her, then glanced back towards the group of scientists and techno-wizards that stood, ready for instruction. His eyes rested on her again, and she did nothing but survey his body. He motioned toward the hall.  “Shall we?”

Bulma nodded her head slowly and raised one eyebrow, indicating that she was indeed ready. Turning to the Mizuka-jin behind her, she smiled warmly and raised her hand, telling them in their native language that it was time. Brolli had scolded her about that many times before, saying that Saiyago should most certainly be the only language spoken in his palace, but she granted the blue-skinned aliens the grace of being able to hear their native language at least once a day.  She knew she would give anything to hear her language at this very moment.

Then, they were slowly led into the hall. Bulma was greeted on their way to the dais by many people she was acquainted with, and she smiled with all the grace and poise of a professional salesperson on her home planet. In truth, friends were a commodity to her nowadays. She had very few, and the friends she did have were not close to her in any sense of the word. She could not afford attachments, not when she had dedicated half of this life to becoming the calloused and impenetrable woman she was now.

There was a distinct aroma filling the hall tonight, and Bulma wondered briefly if her favorite Mizuka-jin dish would be served. She strode confidently behind her lover, awkwardness a foreign word to her these days.

Their affair was not a secret. Since Brolli had granted her freedom and made her science division leader, it wasn’t as if their affections towards one another needed to be kept secret for any reason. In fact, it was widely accepted and Bulma was constantly assaulted with a barrage of questioning as to when the Governor would take her as his mate.  But Bulma was aware that Brolli, even if he were to ask, would be damned to hell forever before watching the look on her face the moment he wrapped her wrists in his tail and bit her neck. She would be able to do nothing but laugh in contented victory.

As Bulma neared the dais, she surveyed the Royal Party briefly. The Elite guards were gathered around the King, but she was surprised to find that Raditsu was not among them. But then again, should she be surprised? Knowing the amount of fear he possessed in his heart when it came to her, perhaps the thought of seeing her again had forced him to take an alternate course. She smirked before letting her eyes roam the party further. The King was a fairly small man, not close to Brolli’s standards by any stretch of the imagination, but he was intimidating in stance, in form. Maybe it was the facial hair too, she mused, giggling silently to herself.

Bulma’s eyes then came to rest on the one standing beside the King’s seat. Her eyes widened for a moment, and then she snapped them back into place. He looked similar to the King, yet obviously younger, and more…more…

She stopped ogling as his eyes came to rest on her. She tore her eyes away and attempted to study him further with peripheral vision. The fact that he was shorter than Brolli did nothing to deter from his attractive nature. The piercing gaze of his eyes was still on her, no doubt attempting the same study she was with him. The spandex most of the party before her wore was in stark contrast to the traditional uniform Brolli was adorned in. He’d been elaborately dressed from the moment she saw him, and she later discovered it was because of the reverence his people held for him. His loose-fitting pants and bare chest were all she had ever seen him in. The simple yet beautiful jewelry that decorated his neck, head and wrists were all in compliance with the reverence…and it was attractive, granted.

But the tight material that clung to the soldiers and the man she was now ogling was attractive on another level. The straining muscles of the warrior’s legs and arms seemed to tense and relax with every passing second. Bulma admitted the sight was appealing, and she forced herself to keep from making eye contact with the man who was still studying her with as much, if not more intensity than before.

When Brolli stopped at the dais he stepped aside, giving her full view of the Elite warriors before her, and she took a deep breath.  She felt nervous for the first time in years. After Brolli introduced them, she methodically followed suit as the Mizuka-jin behind her bowed the way she had taught them, and spoke aloud:

“Kiis taluk’san, Zarshon-kalan.”

When she raised her eyes to the party again, she could see the man next to the King smirking almost indignantly, but with some measure of curiosity and respect. Bulma took that second of opportunity to smile back briefly.  Brolli motioned to her individually.

“I present to you, Zarshon-kalan, Shal’ba Bulma. She is a Saiya-jin citizen, though foreign, and head of my science division.  She runs it quite efficiently, as my personal opinion, Sire.”

Bulma lowered her eyes only for a moment to catch Brolli winking at her, and she returned the gesture. Then, her eyes rose again to see the King gazing at her curiously and intently. It seemed he was amused by the fact that a scientific woman, and an alien, would be so beautiful, let alone in the high-ups of his own society. She flashed him her most winning smile as Brolli spoke again, “Lady Bulma, I present to you Vejiita-Zarshon, and his son Vejiita-Zarshi.”

Bulma fought to keep her eyes from widening as she realized that the man she’d been so obviously ogling had been the Prince himself. She suppressed her own nervous laughter as she stepped up onto the dais and bowed gracefully.

“Vejiita-Zarshon, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I hear you’re quite fond of matters of science and technology. I’m sure you will find our program here on Mizukashi highly interesting.” Again she smiled and did not break eye contact with the man until he spoke finally:

“I think I will, Lady Bulma, very much indeed.”  Bulma smiled wittily and raised an eyebrow until the King motioned to his son, the sexy man in spandex. She turned to face him as the King spoke an introduction, “My son, Vejiita…”

Bulma drew her lips together in a smile so very seductive and cunning that a god would not have been able to contain himself. She saw the Prince raise his own eyebrow and tighten his arms across his broad chest. She bowed to him.

“Vejiita-Zarshi…a pleasure to meet you as well.” The words played on her lips like a joke, and she knew he was the only one who could tell.  Perhaps not even Brolli could sense it.

She straightened her back and carefully chose her next actions. When she saw Brolli out of the corner of her eye, he was grazing her with his eyes from her head to her toes, a look of total disapproval on his face.  But not in regards to presentation, of course.  Bulma felt the hot eyes of each man on the dais dig into her with dizzying intensity, and she reveled in it.

_How feeble these ‘warriors’ are…really._ Bulma crossed her hands over the front of her dress and glanced over at the Prince.  How very interesting this evening was going to be.

 


	4. Chapter Three - Larushinta

**Chapter Three: _Larushinta_**

**_“_ ** **Lover _”_**

 

 

"Surely, Brolli, you don’t think the Mizuka-jin are advanced enough mount a resistance?  After all, what resources do they have?  Surely, no ability to harness the _jal’a_ , as we have!"

Bulma lifted her eyes as she delicately slid a utensil from her smooth lips. Curiosity dressed her features as Vejiita-Zarshon replied to Brolli’s statement about the ever-increasing tech knowledge that the natives were gaining every day. For an hour now, the King had been drilling her and of course Brolli about the variety of advancements on this planet. Of course, she knew, half of them would not have been at all possible had it not been for her.

Bulma fought down her smirk as Brolli explained that although the Mizuka-jin were not generally a hostile or war-like people, it would be better not to underestimate them by any account. He was right of course; underestimating your enemy was the first step to defeat.  The value of this truth had already been proven to her of course. Although she toyed with the monkeys, to underestimate them would be a grave mistake.

The food was not at all unpleasant. Over the past two years she had grown accustomed to the variety of exotic foods that were available on Mizukashi. Most dishes were derived from seafood, as Geishan was a port city. And since the entire planet was composed mostly of archipelagoes, it was not uncommon to find hundreds of port cities on one island. The dish for this evening, steamed tchiri (as close to a fish as they came here), was mouth watering.  But she had made sure to remind herself to save room for dessert. She hoped ardently that it would be that fluffy thing they called "lacimki"...it remarkably resembled lemon meringue pie, though it was not quite so sweet. Bulma’s mind began to drift and she lay her fork back on her plate and let the tchiri melt in her mouth, its salty flavor calming her senses.

After taking one glance at her lap to make sure she hadn’t dropped anything, she reached for her glass and brought it to her lips. The concept of "adult drinks" was assuredly a universe-wide concept, as the substance "purya" inflicted many of the same effects as alcohol from Chikyuu. The fruity flavored drink numbed her tongue and caused heat to flush into her face as she swallowed it. Just as she let the liquid settle back into its glass, she raised her eyes towards the seat of Vejiita-Zarshi, and caught his piercing ebony eyes shining over the rim of his own glass. They studied her with more than just lust, she observed, and yet at the same time it was definitely erotic. Bulma felt the heat from her drink spread to every corner of her body, and then back again to the meeting point of her thighs.

_Another one with great big balls the size of an elephant’s!_ She let her eyes do the smiling as she dragged the rim of her glass against her full bottom lip and finally off her mouth entirely. Tenderly, and with care, she flashed him a smile that would have seared the flesh from the Saiya-jin god Nash’vehn, who governed the freezing poles of Vejiita-sei, and narrowed her eyes. To her surprise, he did not smile back.  He only replaced his glass on the table before him and leaned back in his chair, seeming to gain interest in the conversation again.

Suddenly there was a booming voice to her right.  Brolli leaned towards her a bit from his seat at the head of the table and tilted his head upwards. He obviously had not seen her eye contact with the Prince.

"And what do you think, Lady?"  He asked casually, as though she had any say in the affairs of Vejiita-sei’s Royal House. Her eyes studied his for only a second, and she thought he winked at her, but could not be sure. Another voice from the opposite side of the table perked her ears.

"Yes... _Lady_ Bulma, what do you think?"

Bulma’s eyes fell upon the lounging Prince, and she tilted her chin into the air, trying to catch the last echoes of his more potent voice. She turned her eyes back to Brolli, realizing she had no idea as to what they were referring. Bulma smiled devilishly.

"Forgive me, Shakan, the purya seems to have distracted me.  What was the subject?"

Brolli blinked at her, and turned up the corner of his mouth. Bulma felt her heart rate speed up quite a bit as his tail flicked at the open slit of her dress under the table. _Bastard..._ she growled silently as he smiled more widely this time and picked up his own glass.

"The Mizukashi natives, Shal’ba; do you think their knowledge of tech is a challenge to the Empire?"

Bulma could have killed him then and there had she the power to do so, for the tip of his tail had begun tracing intricate patterns on the top of her silken thigh as he spoke. She kept her cool, confident in her ability to ignore a turn on -- powerful as it may be. Her eyes darted back towards the Prince again, and she saw the same look in his eye:  the amused, half-lidded eyes she had seen on every Saiya-jin male since the first.   _He’ll learn not to look at me that way..._

" _Truthfully_ , Kassha’hal," she chimed, projecting her voice in the vast hall as though she were a singer, "all knowledge is a threat if it is wielded properly. All one really needs is the right tools."

"And you think they posses these...tools?" The voice of the King only partly unnerved her, and she met his eyes as coolly as she had met Brolli’s a second ago. His tail had stopped its torturous ascent and was now poised above her legs as though he may punish her for any wrong words. Bulma smiled as warmly as possible at the Monkey King.

"One can never tell, Zarshi-kalan," she paused, glancing once at Vejiita-Zarshi and watching him tap his fingers lightly on his arm.  "I don’t believe so.  After all," another pause, eyes to Brolli, "the Shakan keeps an awfully good eye on them."

There was lighthearted chuckling from all ends of the table, and she lifted her glass towards the King, wishing his head would fall off right then and there. She would have laughed a great, hearty guffaw.  In any event, the dinner atmosphere had begun to make her uncomfortable, and she decided it was definitely time for an evening stroll.

As if the room were made of glass, Bulma set her utensils on the table beside her bowl and pushed herself out from the table. The warriors sitting around her looked up simultaneously and paused as though her presence was god-like. Bulma felt the sudden urge to grin with satisfaction. The stray curling strands of her done-up hair rustled against her shoulders as she turned in the direction of Brolli’s voice.

"Won’t you wait for dessert, Lady Bulma?" he asked, the tone in his voice so dripping with innuendo that she wondered why no one else had noticed it. His comment caused the room to seemingly glow a sudden shade of red. Bulma smiled.

"Perhaps later, Shakan.  For now I hope you will excuse me," she turned to the King, "Zarshon-kalan." He nodded to her. Now for the Prince; "Zarshi-kalan."

She allowed the syllables to hang on her lips as she spoke her farewells to him, and she could tell he noticed. Vejiita nodded in reply and rested his elbows on the table. The powerful arms he now leaned on seemed to strain against the thin fabric of his suit, and she swallowed deeply. No matter though...she had other mountains to conquer yet again.

After the others had given their good-byes, Bulma stepped away from her seat and turned to walk away, but she did not leave before resting an outstretched palm on the surface of Brolli’s bare chest. Her fingers trailed lightly up to his collarbone and flicked the golden choker at his neck before she finally strutted off and out into the crowd surrounding the dinner table.   _Bite your lip on that until tonight, Kassha’hal..._

_#_

 

Vejiita brushed a gloved thumb against his bottom lip and watched the retreating backside of the blue-haired beauty as she disappeared into the crowd. The guttural chuckles of his father grated on his nerves abruptly.  They were soon joined by many other members of the Elite Guard.

"Perhaps the Shal’ba Bulma has other intentions towards the Shakan?" Vejiita-Zarshon boomed, saving humility for another day, his son assumed. The look on Shakan Brolli’s face suddenly enraged him, as it seemed a disgusting combination of satisfaction and seething pride. Vejiita’s brows furrowed as Brolli set down his glass.

"Perhaps, My King."  He replied, resting a palm on his leg and flexing the inside of his bicep. Vejiita nearly laughed aloud as he realized that the woman had most definitely already mated with Brolli; he recognized her scent from earlier when they’d first arrived. And by the looks of things, it seemed it had been going on for quite a while. Not that he blamed the warrior.  Bedding such an exotic female was quite an accomplishment indeed.

"Well, I certainly can’t blame you," Vejiita’s father gave voice to his thoughts; "such a woman is a prize indeed."

There was another chuckle of agreement, and Vejiita snorted in mock laughter. He was mildly surprised to see the look of discord on Brolli’s features as he replied,

"A _pleasure_ , yes My Lord."  He sounded as if he was musing aloud. "A prize though...never. The Lady Bulma was a survivor of the Empire’s purge on Chikyuu several years ago. She is not a creature so easily tamed."

Vejiita’s curiosity was suddenly piqued, and he lifted one eyebrow before he spoke.

" _Chikyuu_...? There were less than ten survivors left after the Empire purged the puny little thing.  You mean to say she works for you, willingly, as though she holds no grudge against you - against us?”

There were many rumbles and questions as the group agreed with Vejiita’s question. He thought he saw the faintest hint of panic in Shakan Brolli’s eyes, and wondered how such an emotion had come to pass through the vision of such a man as the Kassha’hal.

"Though I hate to admit it, Zarshi-kalan, power over the lust of a woman can be a great power indeed."

Vejiita drew his bottom lip between his teeth and watched as the Chosen One tipped his glass towards the laughing Saiya-jin warriors around him, a spark of discontent in the signature of his jal’a. The Prince lifted his own glass, wary.

 

#

 

Bulma had been watching the festivities from the balcony for nearly an hour now, and Mizukashi’s second cycle moon, Perhini, was beginning its soft arch in the southern half of the sky. Its slightly greenish tint added a flavor to the air around her, and sparkled along the edges of her eyes. She blinked and watched as the ritual dancers in the hall stopped their movements and were dismissed. Yes…it was getting rather late and the feast was wearing down just as her body was.

Bulma sighed and pushed herself from the balcony, deciding another walk was in order. She’d already taken one earlier after leaving the dinner table. It had helped to clear her mind. Many thoughts raced through her calculating mind, and she needed to organize them; to make sure she was comfortable with her present state of mind.

The heavy night air clung to her body, causing a sheen of light perspiration to spread over the open back of her dress. It made her perfume begin to permeate the air she occupied, floating up from her warm neck as though she were trying to attract a mate. Bulma smirked as she headed down the hallway further from the crowds of partygoers.  For the most part, social events were amusing, but Bulma found that after an exhausting amount of time, even being around more than one person was tiring and often irritating.

The Governor’s Palace loomed over her like an umbrella, shielding her from the greenish moonlight, the dimly sunlit midnight.  Night noises were sounding over the fading music and voice that was still echoed from the main hall. Native wildlife had always been enthralling to her, and she studied it almost as diligently as she studied technology. Most of the wildlife subsisted and resided in the water, since more than ninety percent of the planet was covered in it, and there were relatively few aviary species: mostly sea birds and water skimmers.

Her mind drifted to that inner place where desires lay. The Monkey Prince certainly was a mountain worth conquering. She wondered how long Brolli would continue to witness her obvious flirting until he crushed under the weight of it. The most amusing element of all was that he tried to conceal the way it affected him, though she knew already that it affected him a great deal. It pleased Bulma to know that she was still in control, despite that she could tell Brolli was in the process of trying to reverse that fact. She wondered how long his mind would hold out, or if he would bother to wait that long before giving up.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp click in the background, and she swerved around to face…nothing. She smirked again; if that fool was searching for her now, he had already made his presence known. She stood for a moment, listening for the faint flicker of particles that signified a teleport. When it did not come, she blinked slowly and narrowed her eyes in the dim light of the quiet hallway.

"You can come out now…I’m in no mood for hide-and-seek tonight, Brolli.”

"Isn’t that a Chikyuu-jin game?"

Her face fell into a smirk as Brolli’s voice, thick and husky, echoed in the hall from behind her. She turned slowly to see him leaning on the pillar that had slowly been making its way into her path, and she raised an eyebrow.

"I hadn’t expected you to leave the festivities so early, Shakan." Her voice carried in the heavy air of the hall, soaking into the stone pillar he leaned on.  She thought she saw him tense.

"The chaos was beginning to bore me…  As it seemed to have bored you.  I recall you left the dinner table before dessert was even served."

Bulma raised an eyebrow, seeing that he was in no mood for a mere quickie. Saiya-jin men reminded her very much of Chikyuu-jin dogs; sometimes they just wanted to fuck, other times they just wanted to play.

"So I did," she replied, grazing his gently shining body once with her eyes.  "The dinner conversation was beginning to bore me, if you’ll excuse me for saying so."

There was a soft rustle as Brolli straightened his back and clenched his fists, then purred in a rather primal fashion. Yes, he was definitely in the mood for play tonight. Bulma felt a chill of anticipation run from the center of her stomach and down in between her legs as he spoke.  A hint of a chuckle danced around the edge of his voice.

"I can’t say as I blame you.  But you should have stayed for the discussion after you left. It was quite interesting."

Bulma pursed her lips together and recalled how she had gracefully left the dining hall earlier, then wondered briefly if Vejiita-Zarshi had said anything about her.

"Don’t think I can’t tell how your scent changes when you think of someone else." His voice had changed suddenly, full of a jealous rage that he thought he was containing inside himself. Bulma let her lips curl into a smile, and decided to tempt his anger further.  It was starting…

"Am I your slave again, Brolli…?" She leaned into his breathing space and brushed her lips against his cheek, which she noted was burning like his aura.  "I think we both know that one of the only things you can’t control is me.  So do save the jealous rage bit for someone else. I have little to no tolerance for it."

With that, she turned abruptly to leave him standing there in a blaze of his own ire. To her great surprise, a hand tangled in her long aqua locks and took a fistful of them. She gasped angrily as Brolli pulled backwards harshly and held her flush against his sculpted chest.

"I’m surprised that after two years, _larushinta_ , you would have less respect for me than you did when we first met. I mean after all," he blew against her ear and chuckled as she shuddered against him.  "Haven’t I lived up to your expectations, my little Chikyuu-jin?"

Bulma tensed in his grip and tightened her body against his. Then, in a voice that was as threatening as it was calm, she laughed.

"I find this sort of play highly arousing, Shakan…  But I would recommend your letting go of me."

"No," he purred against her cheek, "you see I’ve decided that tonight, I’m in charge. I know you get off controlling men, but don’t you think it’s time I had a turn?"

"Have I offended you, then?”  She asked him.  A cracking, evil little smile danced across her mouth.  He pressed burning lips to the quivering skin on her neck.

"You wouldn’t give a shit if you did, would you?"

Bulma took a deep breath and Brolli let his fingers relax, tossing her shining hair over her shoulders like rivulets of water.  Bulma pressed her lips together, and her tongue darted out to wet them.

"You know me too well, Brolli. It makes me wonder what this little liaison really means to you."

There was anger now in his aura.  Anger...and had it been produced by the truth in her words, or simply the way she had _said_ it?  Bulma wondered; how long would he wait before admitting that she was right?  Something changed in his countenance though, and when he pressed his cheek to hers again she could feel that his jaw was clenched tightly.  He let his tail snake out from his waist and capture her wrists in a tight grip.

The amused taunt in her face and mouth was gone when he swiveled the both of them around until he had pushed her back up against the pillar and tangled his fingers in the disheveled waterfall of her hair once again.  Slowly, he tilted her head up until she could not see his black eyes anymore.  He pressed his lips into the pulse at her throat and growled; it was meant to show her his dominance.

Bulma squirmed beneath him and growled deeply in her throat. It was difficult to discourage him now, when the hot insistence of his mouth was melting the core of her insatiable vengeance.  But these Saiya-jin were her toys, a means to an end in her endeavors.  They were pets.  And a pet does not rule its master…

"Stop it," she said plainly, her words a simply flat line of direct order

Brolli laughed again, this time more loudly, and dragged his lips up her throat and onto her chin, then finally to her bottom lip.  He captured her mouth again in the softest and gentlest of kisses she had known him to give.  This kiss… It was a direct contrast to his beastly, deadly disposition.

To her surprise, Bulma returned his kiss quite willingly.  This acceptance was gradually aiding her descent into the madness of needing his touch. Bulma opened her eyes as he sucked on her bottom lip, and to her surprise his brows were cut into a scowl.  His grip tightened on her wrists, and the gentleness was suddenly overwhelming.    She tore her mouth away, breaking the silence, and the touch, with a desperate plea.

"Stop..."  She tossed her head to the side.  "Stop...Brolli, please, stop."

His brow furrowed, and he stopped.  A frown settled on his mouth, and he stood up straight, his eyes settling on her distressed cheeks and the slight shimmer that now trailed from one eye to her chin. Bulma was horrified to realize that it was a tear.  Gods… a real tear.  Her breath came in short, hacking gasps.  There was a deafening silence from him, and he let go of her wrists.

"Why?" he asked slowly and so quietly that she could barely hear him.  "Why should I stop?"

Since Bulma’s hands were now free, she seized this opportunity to grip both sides of his face.  She ground her mouth against his, igniting the flame of his desperate lust once again.  She willed him to forget about her tears, about her shaking hands and sorrowful voice.  He shoved her up against the pillar more forcefully, pressing his hot arousal against her as she wrapped her long legs about his powerful waist. Brolli found himself taken aback as she ripped her lips from his and bore into him with her sharp blue eyes.

"Don’t ever be gentle with me!  Don’t--not EVER!"  Her harsh voice was surely enough to rip his skin to shreds, but once she began rocking her hips against his, all thought was lost. He groaned softly as Bulma pressed her hungry mouth back to his and sucked on his top lip so hard she thought she might be biting it.

The feral violence of her assault seemed to fuel his desire for her, and she found him pushing away the material of her dress from her breast so he could tease it slowly with his tongue. Her fingers knotted themselves in his unruly hair and she tossed the diadem from his head down the hallway.

Bulma chose that moment to take hold of his waving tail and lick the tip of it.  Instinctively, he moaned and bit the hardened little nub of flesh beneath his tongue. She whimpered above him and stroked the tail further, knowing it would make him delirious with need for her. Brolli continued to devour her mouth, and her lips began to swell at the onslaught.

Bulma realized with dim prudency that he intended to fuck her right here – right here in the hall where someone might see.  Somehow it thrilled her, sent waves of desire crashing over her until the hot, wet center between her legs was crying out to be filled up by him – her Legendary Warrior.  Brolli loosed himself from his pants and lifted the sleek material of her dress. Her smooth legs tightened around his waist, and he stroked them before gripping her backside and thrusting himself into her until he was so deep that he gasped.

Bulma crossed her legs behind him and made a small thrust of her own that was powerful in its own right, and she whispered unmentionable things in his ear. Things she would do to him all night...things he never would have thought of himself...and it drove him further inside her.

He was trying, she realized...so desperately, he was trying to go slowly, to take his time and make this conspicuous interlude last as long as he possibly could. But her voice in his ear and the way her hips met his with each powerful thrust made him fall over the edge of control. As he slid himself out of her once, to the tip, she gasped loudly and threw her beautiful hair back as she tilted her head upwards.

"K--kassha-Kassha’hal! Finish it...finish it now!"

Her body sang for the soul-shattering release she knew he was capable of giving her, but Bulma found with dismay that he was chuckling against her lips.

“You’ve no idea how it feels when you beg.  _Gods_ , it feels so good.”

She hissed at him, and gasped when he pulled himself out to the tip.  He waited there for an agonizing moment, until she tightened her legs again and caught him unawares.  His hips thrust forward unwittingly, but he braced himself against the pillar behind her and snarled.  There was a brilliant flash of yellow aura, and she saw his eyes blink from deepest black to blue, then back.  Bulma could see it then; he had lost this time.

Brolli growled loudly and dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her bottom, then pushed himself back into her with the brutal force they usually engaged in.  Bulma cried out this time, riding the release on each thrust of his powerful hips.  Brolli shouted and threw his head back – she could see the tense, corded muscles in his neck convulsing with his climax.

After he had finished, he buried his face in her neck and breathed deeply before sliding out of her and letting her feet back down to the ground. Finally, he met her eyes again, and the Lady Bulma was her old self once more...

"Gods...how intense, Shakan."  She told him, gaining her breath and the ability to speak. Unable to form any other response other than a knowing smirk, he nodded.

"I hope that’s not all you were prepared for."

In truth, Brolli probably would not sleep this night until he had mated with her at least three more times. She was still his drug, Bulma knew that as well as he did.  But as she took his hand and led him towards his chambers, something about his countenance was unfamiliar.  Tonight he was more calculating, more dangerous.

Bulma had discovered long ago that the Kassha’hal, the Chosen One, the most powerful Saiya-jin warrior known, was as compassionate as they came.  It was what had drawn her to him.  Despite his compassion, he was still Saiya-jin and she could exploit this weakness to bring him down as she had the others.  But this time, when he had chuckled at her begging insistence…  _The gods damn him, he’d actually laughed at her!_   Then she had seen something in his face.  It was desperation, and desperation was unpredictable.  And without predictability, how then could she control him?  And if she could not control him, then how in all the galaxies could she break him, as she had done Raditsu?  And how could she get at Prince Vejiita without breaking the Kassha’hal Brolli?

But, Kami damn his soul to the River of Blood, she would not let him beat her at her own game!


	5. Chapter Four - Kaiyat'ehn

**Chapter Four: _Kaiyat’ehn_**

**“Beautiful”**

 

 

The morning dawned hot and humid. Vejiita slid out of the guest bed and onto the floor, moaning in irritation. His entire body was covered in an uncomfortable sheen of thick sweat, and it made him feel disgusting…truly. Normally, he would not be so averted to the feel of flushed skin and damp cheeks. Perhaps it would be acceptable had he just been working himself in a training exercise, or fucking that gorgeous blue-haired Chikyuu-jin that Brolli flaunted about.  But after having been asleep, the Saiya-jin Zarshi found that waking to a mass of wet sheets was inexcusably unbearable.

Vejiita slowly ambled to his feet and found his way into the bath chamber that adjoined the guest room. And a fine setting it was, too. He had to hand it to the Mizuka-jin; they certainly knew how to treat royal guests. He wasn’t sure yet if it had been Shakan Brolli’s influence, or simply traditional Mizuka-jin practice to treat their guests with the utmost of respect.

There was a gentle haze surrounding the bathroom this morning, and Vejiita found it repulsive.  His home planet was certainly a humid and warm one, but _this_ was utterly ridiculous. Slowly, he leaned over the sink and groaned. The large amount of alcohol he’d consumed during last evening’s festivities was coming back to haunt him now. He noted the large bath behind him and decided that he would like nothing better than to sit in it for an hour or so until his headache wore away.

As he prepared his bath, his thoughts drifted back to the Kassha’hal Brolli, the Chosen One.  He’d never met a Saiya-jin quite like him.  Perhaps living on a planet so foreign to Vejiita-sei had made him what he was.  Shakan Brolli still fit ninety percent of the stereotypes attributed to his race, but there was a distinct difference about him.  Perhaps it was his mere power level that set him apart from most other Saiya-jin. Vejiita was more than curious to see just how far his great power could stretch.

Gods, it made his blood singe with heat each time he thought of the match he would soon fight with the Legendary Super Saiya-jin. It would truly be a sight to see, that was definite—and he wondered if all the stories he had ever heard about the Super Saiya-jin had been true. The golden aura, the change of hair color, even eye color; were they all just myth or were they true? Some even claimed that the very mass of the Kassha’hal’s body grew as though it had to accommodate for the sheer intensity of his power.

Vejiita slid into the tub and nearly growled aloud with the pleasurable sensation of feeling roasted alive. He stretched his limbs rested his head on the back of the tub, feeling his body go slack with momentary relaxation. Closing his eyes, he recalled the dream he’d had during the few short hours he’d actually slept. Vejiita smirked…he’d known as soon as he’d laid eyes on that blue-haired Chikyuu-jin woman that he’d be plagued by dreams of her.

He wondered how long she’d been Brolli’s lover.  Judging by the way she smelled when she was around him, he guessed it had probably been quite a while. They had made no outward declarations, but it was glaringly obvious by their interaction.  Vejiita was curious, quite beyond reason, as to whether or not Brolli had actually claimed the Chikyuu-jin as his mate.

The woman was quite an obstacle. And she was one he had made a promise to conquer before he left Mizukashi. It would give him something to do while he was here, anyhow.

Vejiita felt himself go hot all over not only from the steamy water of his bath, but also from the very memory of his dreams of the blue-eyed goddess. Was her skin as divinely soft as it had been in his dream? The thought of her delicate fingers tracing patterns on his body made him shudder with sudden arousal. The muscles of around his hips contracted slowly as he imagined those long legs wrapped around his waist while she rocked against him in the throes of passionate lovemaking…

The Prince cringed as the communicator near the bathroom door buzzed loudly. He groaned softly.

“Mmm, down boy…”  He muttered to his throbbing erection, and reached for the bar of soap near his head. In one angry heave, he aimed directly for the glowing green button at the bottom of the comPanel.  The soap fell to the ground heavily, and Vejiita leaned back against the tub. “What is it?” He growled, hoping whoever had disturbed him would now need a change of pants.

“Zarshi-kalan…?” The voice of one of his imperial guards sang irritably through the unit, “Vejiita Zarshon wishes to see you in his chambers.”

“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I feel up to it…” He hoped his words sounded murderous enough. The guard was persistent.

“T-ten’gal, you’ll excuse me Zarshi-kalan. The King wishes that you come to his quarters immediately. He says it is a matter of great importance.”

Vejiita groaned irritably and rested his head upon the smooth porcelain surface of the bath. Closing his eyes, he conceded.

“Yes, yes alright.  Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I’m through with my bath.”

“Iyen, yes Zarshi-kalan.  Suukah.” The conPanel blipped off.

Vejiita rolled his eyes around in his head and then finally opened them again. The ceiling of the bath chamber suddenly seemed very bleak, despite the heavily decorated walls of the room itself. He sighed deeply and lifted one of the sponges from the side of the tub. If he was to appease his father, he supposed he ought to finish bathing.

With great reluctance and more haste than he was normally used to, Vejiita bathed and returned to his guest chamber. After dressing himself in a black, loose fitting, long sleeved tunic and a training suit, he slid his boots on his feet and made his way down the hall towards his father’s guest room.

The cooler morning breeze slid in through the open hallways of the palace, and Vejiita reveled in the relief it had given them from the heat that had permeated the building last night. Unfortunately, he’d been informed that the cool breeze of morning would not last past lunchtime. This thought brought a grimace to his face, and he walked a little more quickly towards the intersection, preparing to make a left hand turn.

He let his eyes graze the floor as he took the turn, and realized too late that he was about to collide head-on with a female.  Just as he looked up, his chest collided with hers, and a pair of blue eyes shocked him out of his early morning mood. The scent of flowers, fruit, fresh water and the pure odor of a female accosted his senses, sending him into a shocked state of mind—even as she stared back at him with as much amazement.

Much to his embarrassment, his surge of blood and excessive heart rate caused a little spark of his ki to ignite in his clenched fist. The new electricity in the air did nothing to soothe his pumping veins, and he watched as her mouth twisted into a knowing and satisfied smile. She pressed her palms together and bowed gently.

“Ten’gal ryahn, excuse me Zarshi-kalan. I was not watching where I was going.” When she brought her head back up, he couldn’t help but let his own lips curl into a smirk, and he narrowed his burning gaze.

“Of course, _Lady_ Bulma.”  His voice faded out as quickly as it had began, and he allowed his eyes to travel from the shining locks of her hair, down to her feet and then up again very slowly.  His scrutiny was not lost on her, and one of her matching blue eyebrows rose indignantly.  His blood surged as she folded her hands together.

“I trust you had an enjoyable night, Prince Vejiita?”

The words she spoke danced upon the strings of his pseudo-arousal and played havoc on each pore of his body. Vejiita crossed his arms as tightly as possible across his broad chest, then ‘hmphed’ lightly.

“I did…” He briefly recalled his dream of the woman standing before him. “Very enjoyable.”

The hint on the edges of his tone affected her more than he was sure she had expected.

“I assume yours was equally pleasing, Shal’ba Bulma?”

Bulma’s sparkling eyes engaged in a harrowing dance of mockery, and suddenly he felt enraged.  Her demeanor left him a shaking mess, and it angered him. The evil amusement in her smile cut through his proud exterior. Who in all the gods’ names did she think she was, at any rate? Her mouth opened slowly.

“My evening was splendid, Zarshi-kalan.  Undeniably pleasurable.” Her voice faded out as she said it, and he noted the same hint of teasing sadism in her voice that had been in his. Vejiita ground his teeth together and tightened his fists underneath his arms. He admitted, under duress of his reasoning, that she was insinuating more than he wanted her to. Much as he knew a relationship existed between her and the Shakan Brolli, he also knew he wanted her, and that he would do anything he could to have her…even if it was just once. His inner irritation gave way on the outside, and he decided to play his cards as she had just played hers.

“Of course, Lady. If you’ll excuse me…”  He made his way to brush past her. On his way to her right side, she smiled, and he stopped.

“If you are searching for the Shakan, Sire, he has told me he awaits you in the stage arena whenever you are ready.”

Vejiita squinted and uncrossed his arms.

“Tagaht.  Thank you, Lady Bulma.  But I’m actually on my way to see my father. If you see the Shakan Brolli, tell him I’ll join him as soon as I’m able.”

Her eyes blinked and she nodded her head slowly.

“Of course, Zarshi-kalan…”  And her deeply sensual voice faded into the hallway as she brushed by him. Her strong scent of arousal hung heavy in the air after she had turned the corner, and Vejiita smirked. Tilting his head up higher, turned from her retreating backside and headed toward his father’s chamber.

That female was dangerous, he concluded.  And she needed to be disarmed.

 

#

 

The Governor’s Palace of the Shakan Brolli housed within it a two-hundred-foot high training facility.  Its perimeter spanned over two thousand feet and was lined with ki absorbing walls. In fact the only material in the facility that did not absorb ki was the floor, and this was only because of timing.

When Bulma had arrived on Mizukashi the room could not have even been called a “facility” by any stretch of the imagination. Despite the fact that Shakan Brolli was wealthy and fairly knowledgeable in the areas of engineering and construction, he had not the time to be making blueprints for his own training grounds, let alone engage in building it. His first duty for her as free-science technician on Mizukashi had been to construct a training facility enviable of the Royal Palace itself.

And truly, it had become such. Bulma was aware that the training grounds in the Royal Palace on Vejiita-sei were only one hundred feet high, and spanned only about a thousand feet in diameter.  It had also been her mind that had created a formula for, and eventually manufactured, the ki absorbing material that covered the walls. Brolli had insisted on keeping the floor ki resistant so that some amount of skill would still be required for dodging deflected blasts.

When Bulma reached the huge double doors that lead into the massive room, two guards threw all their weight into opening them and saluted her as she entered. Brolli had already been in the room for nearly three hours meditating, and after hearing of the challenge that was to take place today between him and the Saiya-jin Prince, Bulma had been ecstatic to see the two fine specimens duke it out for a little while. Perhaps she could help the prince nurse his wounds while she prodded tech information from him…

Bulma raised an eyebrow when Brolli’s left eye opened. He watched her carefully as she crossed the distance between them, but he remained seated on the floor, legs folded and arms crossed over his broad chest. Her memories of their escapades last evening suddenly sparked the twitch of a smile on her mouth, and she flashed it at him with undying brilliancy and scathing sensuality.

Brolli returned the favor with a mere ‘hmph’ of amusement and shut his eye, looking as though he had returned to a state of meditation. Bulma strode over to take a place beside the first row of spectator seats and leaned against them.  Her silent vigil was interrupted by Brolli’s smooth, crooning voice.

“I’m assuming, Lady Bulma, that you are aware of the Aash’an Raditsu’s arrival on Mizukashi earlier this morning?”

His body did not move from its trained state, but his words sent a slight shock through the air. Bulma raised an eyebrow, suddenly very curious. She leaned back further against the cool metal of the bar and smiled gently. So, her former lover and master had decided to show up after all.  How delightfully intriguing.  She laughed a little, a gentle moaning sound deep within the back of her throat.

“Mmm…the Aash’an. I haven’t seen him for quite some time. I hadn’t expected him to set foot on this planet ever again. But, in response to your question, Shakan; no, I was not aware of his arrival. You remember, I was not awake when you left your chambers this morning. I’ve only just begun my day.”

Brolli’s body remained as it was, but he took a deep breath and raised his head slightly. Bulma let her eyes travel over the slightly bronzed, smooth but chiseled surface of his bare back before he spoke again.

“I suppose you’re overcome with joy, Bulma. Seeing him could add several layers of fat to your ego, could it not?” The biting tone in his voice made her slightly confused, and she furrowed her brows. Bulma thought for a moment before replying.

“Perhaps, Brolli.  But then again, perhaps not. I have no desire to fraternize with the Aash’an Raditsu, which I suppose makes you pleased. Isn’t that so?”

To her great surprise, a soft chuckle emanated from the space of air around him, and his shoulders shook slowly with his gentle laughter. Brolli uncrossed his arms and stood, his back still facing her. In one second, he dematerialized and reappeared again in front of her lounging body. His face inches from hers, Brolli breathed deeply of her scent and then hooded his eyes. Bulma felt her heart empty several gallons of blood into her throat, but she kept her cool…  W _hat is monkey boy plotting now?_ Brolli leaned close to her ear and flicked his tongue across the lobe.

“In all honesty, Bulma, I could care less if you fraternize with him.”

“Bullshit!” She cut in abruptly, forgetting herself in a moment of reckless anger. His laughing, half-lidded eyes dug into her, but she kept her breathing steady. _What in all the gods names does he think he’s doing? I’M in control…I make the rules…_

Brolli chuckled again and ran the tip of his finger down the neckline of her dress and across the full surface of her breasts.

“Now, now.  Don’t get upset. Besides…why should you care how I feel about it?”

Bulma refrained from letting words of cruel sarcasm filter from her mouth, and instead leaned closer to him.

“I suppose I rather enjoy watching your jealousy fire up like rocket fuel—do forgive me, Shakan.”

Brolli’s eyebrows shifted from amusement to slight confusion, he brushed his lips to hers, and then stepped away.

“’Rocket fuel’?”  The words lilted off of his tongue as if he expected there to be some sort of connotation to her words. Bulma lifted an eyebrow and folded her hands behind her back.

“A rocket. Chikyuu-jin starships you could say. Quite primitive to the ones I’ve seen in the possession of the Saiya-jin warriors, as you already know.  Its fuel bursts when ignited. It’s rather like your libido as well, My Lord.”

Brolli clenched his teeth together, this time immediately catching her innuendo and trying not to let his nostrils flare so obviously. He nodded once, arched his brow.

“Bravo…” he murmured, stepping back further and towards the center of the sparring area.  Bulma felt her face relax into a state of inner triumph.

“I ran into Vejiita-Zarshi on my way here, Shakan. He was on his way to see his father but asked me to inform you that he’ll be along shortly.” Her voice seemed clearer now that it seemed he had backed down. Submission made her uneasy…she needed control…constantly.  Although she was not so adept at such things, Bulma swore she could feel Brolli’s ki spark uneasily at her words.

“So you spoke with him, then?”  He asked, and turned away from her so he could flare his energy a bit.

Bulma nodded and leaned against the cool metal bar of the side arena once more. Her nearly sheer gown glistened in the blue hue of the room, and Brolli waited for her answer.  Bulma paused and pursed her full lips.

“I did…” her smooth voice no doubt echoed off the walls of his self-control.  “How do you expect to fare against him, My Lord?”

Her question aroused a glint of anger in him this time, but he sneered and hid it well when he turned to face her again.

“I’m not sure, _Shal’ba_. I haven’t used a scouter in some time, and I haven’t been able to read his exact power level. But just by blind analysis I’d say he has a forty percent chance of besting me in combat.  High for one who has not reached ascension.”

Bulma tilted her head to the side in curiosity.

“You are quite confident, Shakan,” she smiled rather seductively. “Admirable…”

Brolli studied her with his black eyes and smiled.  It was a smile she knew very well, and that he was keeping himself from closing the distance between them and lifting her legs in the air right in the arena.  He tightened the plated gold around his wrists and chuckled at her.

“I have reason to be.”

 

#

 

The Aash’an Raditsu, so given his title by way of captain’s status, was a disagreeable man even by Saiya-jin standards. But Vejiita gave him credit where it was due; he certainly was a most respectable and reliable Elite Warrior. For the past three days, Aash’an Raditsu had given up part of his vacation on Mizukashi to attend the negotiations that were taking place on the Aisu-jin planet Yuki-sei. The Aisu-jin Emperor Furiza had made some interesting proposals to Vejiita’s father the last time they met and, fearing that all of Furiza’s words could be nothing more than wildly elaborate fabrications, the Royal Council had voted to send a diplomatic envoy to meet with Furiza instead of sending the King himself.

Captain Raditsu had been one of the first to volunteer. The man held his King in such high regard that Vejiita wasn’t sure if the man thought someday he would give up his own throne to him. But Vejiita gave him the benefit of the doubt, assuming that no Elite Warrior would risk his own life just to attain a throne he could not keep.

“Suukah, Vejiita-Zarshi. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Vejiita nodded as Raditsu made a signal of veneration. The man was close to him, as close as Vejiita would allow at any rate. His father had taught him at a very young age that Royalty could not and should not trust anyone, for the sake of his own hide, if not for the sake of the Empire. Vejiita slapped his comrade on the shoulder and motioned to the hallway where his father had begun his trek towards the training facility.

“Likewise, Aash’an.”  He let the words flow from his mouth as easily as he possibly could. Gratitude, or any emotion, did not sit well with the Saiya-jin Prince—and he intended to keep it that way. Things like that got in the way. His mind tuned into more important matters. “I know you must already have discussed matters with my father. But tell me:  how did your negotiations fare with those miserable Aisu-jin?”

The Aash’an chuckled softly through his nose and took his steps slowly and heavily, as though his mood were reflected in his stance.

“It seems the Aisu-jin are fully prepared to take over your Empire, Sire.  I’m sure of it.  You know our hold over them has left a bad taste in Furiza’s mouth for twenty odd years.  He’s tired of his sovereign status.  Furiza bargained with me for some amount of time but…” Raditsu paused and let his eyes scan the hallway intently. Vejiita sensed his unrest and tightened his arms over his chest.

“But?”

“But I still cannot be entirely sure about his motives, Sire,” Raditsu’s voice had faded to a dull whisper, and Vejiita strained to hear him continue.  “He is overly generous in his offerings, asking if we would accept more tungsten shipments for the same price.  He claims they are in surplus, but I believe it might be a way for him to ship weapons materials to our sovereign worlds.”

Vejiita’s tail ruffled, and he laughed once, aloud.

“I know the Aisu-jin’s love for tech.  They have become perverted by it.  But you think they would operate weapons facilities off-world, under our very noses?”

Raditsu nodded, glancing around furtively.  The taller Saiya-jin was careful, as always.

“Informants tell me word has it on Yuki-sei that a small Mizuka-jin resistance faction has made a secret alliance with Emperor Furiza. I—cannot be sure of the truth in these allegations. But, as my words to your father were, I would keep a close watch on these fish-nosed little insects if I were you, Zarshi-kalan. They’re technological base far exceeds ours.”

Vejiita let his body tense with apprehension as they passed by a small group of palace technicians. There was a moment of silence before Vejiita found the words to reply.

“So…it seems the Shakan Brolli may not be as omnipotent as he seems. Perhaps his ascension has clouded his reasoning?”

“If you’ll take my opinion, Zarshi-kalan--?”  Raditsu paused and waited for Vejiita’s nod of approval. The Prince obliged.

“I don’t believe that the Shakan Brolli would be able to have any knowledge of the resistance faction’s existence even if he _was_ omnipotent. They supposedly operate off-world on Mizukashi’s third cycle moon, Ten’rili.  At least, this is what little knowledge I have obtained about them.”

Vejiita held back a wider smirk than the one he had on his mouth as Raditsu spoke, and they quickened their steps as they neared the training facility.

“You know the Shakan well?  You would trust him in this matter?”  Vejiita raised one eyebrow and finally made eye contact with the Captain. Raditsu smiled amusedly and let his eyes drag over towards the great, hulking entrance to the arena.

“Our families were close friends, Zarshi-kalan. I’ve known the Shakan Brolli since we were young boys. He’s younger than I.  I suppose you could say; he was like an extra brother to us. My blood brothers admire him greatly.”

Vejiita stopped outside the entrance and tightened the circle of his tail around his waist. The Aash’an paused with him.

“I suppose they do.  His ‘people’ here admire him.”

Vejiita stopped and watched as the Shakan stood, amidst the crowd of Mizuka-jin natives, shaking hands and making rounds—the Shal’ba Bulma close by his side.  “What do you know of his lover, Aash’an? The Chikyuu-jin native Shal’ba Bulma?”

Vejiita’s brow creased as Raditsu’s eyes went from a cool, confident shade to a painful, anger-ridden glare of contempt. Raditsu’s ki flared a little unexpectedly until he replied.

“What do I know of her, Zarshi-kalan?” It seemed as though he was repeating the question in order to think up a respectable answer. Vejiita nodded slowly.

“Yes, Aash’an…what do you know of her?”

Raditsu’s blue energy wave needed to be voluntarily dissipated, and the big warrior before him bowed his head in slight embarrassment.

“The Shal’ba Bulma is a collateral risk, Zarshi-kalan.  She is manipulative and cunning, _vicious_ …  Do not let her smile fool you, Zarshi-kalan; her hatred for the Empire runs deep and wide.  Her status as an Imperial citizen is granted only because of her hold on the Shakan Brolli. Gods, that bitch deserves--!”  Raditsu paused and bowed his head, and Vejiita widened his eyes slightly, watching the Aash’an’s anger fade into awkwardness. The Prince ventured a guess to him.

“You know her personally then, Aash’an?”

Raditsu’s head rose again, and this time his eyes were filled with apologetic fury.  He nodded.

“My garrison was part of the fleet that purged Chikyuu eight years ago.  She was one of less than a dozen survivors I ordered into the slaver starships.  By the time we had routed and set fire to the compound she lived in, part of my research squad were caught in a… ‘tousle’ with some Chikyuu natives.  The slavers had already begun their ascent back to Chikyuu’s upper atmosphere, so I ordered her confined in the fleet ship.

“So you see, Zarshi-kalan, the Shal’ba Bulma was not always a free citizen. She was my house-slave for six years after that…and my lover. When I came to Mizukashi two years ago the Shakan took a ‘liking’ to her. I didn’t hesitate to leave her behind.”

“You were fortunate to have that female in your bed.”  Vejiita told him.  “You granted your friend the luxury of such a prize?” Vejiita interjected slowly, watching Raditsu’s expression falter about every three seconds. He’d been wounded by her in some way…and not physically. It made him all the more curious about the blue-haired woman. Raditsu snorted in mock laughter, the long, thick mane of his hair ruffled in the humid breeze.

“She would have had him anyway, if she’d have wanted him. Despite Bulma’s position as a slave, she never allowed herself to be controlled by anyone, not even me. I wasn’t surprised in the slightest when I’d heard that Brolli had freed her. In fact I’m sure it would only have been a matter of time before he bowed to her will completely.  I’m amazed he hasn’t claimed her as his mate yet.”

Vejiita fought back his smile and saw Raditsu scan the arena for signs of his former lover. He ventured his next comment with care.

“It’s a good thing he hasn’t…” he muttered, hoping that his scent hadn’t changed as he imagined how lovely it would be to bed the female. His hopes died as Raditsu’s guard came up.

“I would advise against it, Zarshi-kalan. The Shal’ba Bulma is beautiful, but her heart is made of stone. She has no respect for our power, for she utilizes it in her own way.”

This time Vejiita did laugh aloud. He turned to enter the arena.

“Fortunately for me, Aash’an, I also possess a heart of stone. Her tactics do not concern me—as long as she’s a good bed mate; nothing else really matters, does it?”

Vejiita heard the Captain laugh half-heartedly.

“I don’t doubt your words, Sire. I’ve never seen a warrior with quite so little compassion as you.” Raditsu stepped forward and into the archway with his Prince. Vejiita smirked widely.

“It’s as it should be. There is no room in a Prince’s heart for attachment.  I can’t afford it. I can see where such a woman would be capable of holding another man at bay. But I have no need for her heart.  Her body will be sufficient.”

He finished his commitment on a wave of cheers that erupted from the crowd as they entered the arena. The Shakan Brolli turned to see them approaching. As he came towards them, Vejiita twisted his gaze slightly to the left where Aash’an Raditsu stood.

“I have no scouter…give me his present read.”

Raditsu nodded and tapped the buttons on the side of his scouter a few times, then inhaled deeply.

“490,000, Sire…still rising. Have you ever seen him transform?” The question brought curiosity into Vejiita’s gaze. He shook his head. Raditsu chuckled. “Then I guarantee you’ll be impressed, Vejiita-Zarshi.”

Vejiita grinned as Brolli bowed and smiled almost anxiously. His tail unraveled from around his waist and ruffled in the air. The Saiya-jin crowd erupted into more cheers as Vejiita returned the gesture, and the two stepped into the middle of the arena.  Raditsu made his way over to where the King was seated and took a place beside him and the other Elite Guard.

The two Saiya-jin stood in the center of the arena, and Brolli clenched his fists.

“I am honored this day, Zarshi-kalan. You pay tribute to my name with your challenge.”

Vejiita uncrossed his arms and clenched his own fists, feeling the sudden urge to laugh.

“There’s no need to kiss my ass, Shakan.  You know perfectly well that your ki level exceeds mine. If you go easy on me today, I’ll rip your head off of your shoulders.”

Brolli’s eyebrows twitched with amusement, and he tilted his chin up.

“I have no doubt that you would, Sire. I promise you that I will fight to the best of my abilities.”

“Good…” Vejiita’s response tore into the heated air between the two, and he held up an arm. The crowds of Saiya-jin hushed instantly, and Vejiita lifted his head out of the glare he was giving the Shakan.

 “Let us begin the challenge, Shakan Brolli.” The crowd cheered louder, and Brolli nodded once, bringing his arms up just so that they were straining against his own skin. Vejiita grinned evilly and silenced the crowd once more. “Transform, Shakan. All the people here wish to see your true power, and so do I.  I want to fight you at full strength!”

Brolli’s eyes dipped into confusion, and his arms seemed to relax a bit. The Shakan paused and squinted.

“Prince Vejiita, I—my read broke a scouter the last time I transformed in a spar. I would—with all due respect, Zarshi-kalan, I would prefer to remain powered down.”

Vejiita’s eyes darkened, and he gritted his teeth. _What a cocky piece of shit.  So, he thinks he’s doing me a fucking favor!_

“I’m not concerned with your _preferences_ , Shakan!” Vejiita sneered through his lips, “Transform so that I may fight you at full power.”

Brolli seemed to stop and swallow with uncertain illusions. But he nodded warily and bowed.

“Iyen Dulok, of course, Zarshi-kalan.”

Vejiita watched with immeasurable anticipation as Brolli clenched his fists again and flexed his arms into a half folded position. The room around them became quiet with uncertainty, and Vejiita reveled in it.

There was a low sonic boom that echoed throughout the hall as Brolli began to power up, and the Prince felt himself quiver with expectancy. The Kassha’hal grimaced and folded his eyebrows downward. His ki was rising more quickly with each passing second, and it was now becoming palatable as the telltale blue waves began emitting from his body. They surrounded him in a halo of energy and framed his now shaking form with the hands of insistence.

The ki storm rose in its intensity, and several voices in the crowd turned to gasps of astonishment and admiration. Vejiita licked his lips and watched Brolli throw his head back. His arms pulsed suddenly and became larger by the second. His shoulders tensed and corded visibly under the strain of his own power. Finally, the Kassha’hal let out a deafening roar and spread his palms wide.

Vejiita jumped back to avoid the burst of yellow ki that exploded from Brolli’s body and engulfed his entire existence. The Shakan continued the deafening noise and began to float a few inches off of the ground. In a matter of seconds, Brolli’s feet touched the ground again, and the bright light faded, leaving only a golden aura encircling the Kassha’hal’s body as he stood before the Prince.

Utterly awestruck, Vejiita analyzed the form of the man before him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Beneath the golden aura, Brolli’s purplish black hair had become a shining shade of blond and was standing out in a glowing resonance of pure energy. The deep glare of his ebony eyes had flashed and now shone with the brilliancy of the turquoise sea on Vejiita-sei. His body mass was larger…engulfed in a flow of ki that seemed energetic to the senses.

Vejiita stood straight, against the silence of the crowd and the gentle noise of Brolli’s aura,

“Kaiyat’ehn,” he whispered, feeling his trademark smirk return. “Beautiful…”

The crowds whispered gently; ‘Suukah Kassha’hal…Suukah Kassha’hal’. And then the awe diminished as Vejiita’s own ki erupted around him, his cry of battle-ready fervor echoing in the great hall.

“So then, let us commence, Kassha’hal!!”

 


	6. Chapter Five - Saahkehm ey Ryeishiim

**Chapter Five: _Saahkehm ey Ryeishiim_**

**“Blood and Glory”**

 

 

The arena shuddered and shook with the impact of Brolli’s body on the hard floor. The crowd gasped as Vejiita laughed, throwing his arms above his head and producing a large ki flare in his palms. Bulma felt her lips twitch, wondering if Brolli would get up in time to dodge the attack.

In the nick of time, Brolli pushed himself to his feet and sprung back up into the air to avoid Vejiita’s energy dan. The ball of ki bounced off the side of the wall and up towards him, but he deflected it with his arm and then tossed a ball of energy directly towards the Prince. Vejiita laughed again, his deep, amused voice echoing throughout the already clamoring hall. When he had successfully evaded Brolli’s attack, he noticed too late that the Kassha’hal was headed directly towards him with his fists in a double axe handle. Vejiita had enough time to catch the look of sheer ferocity and rage that burned within Brolli’s turquoise eyes before his vision went black with dizzy insistence.

The Prince hurled towards the floor, and Bulma watched him with unbridled curiosity. The smaller, more compact body of the Zarshi-kalan seemed to give him more agility and speed. And he certainly stirred something in her as she watched his powerful arms pressing for power.  However, Brolli’s brute force and energy advantage gave him the go ahead for a win. When Vejiita’s body finally hit the ground, the entire arena shook again with its force. Bulma stood from her seat to lean against the railing…watching…waiting to see who would prove the stronger warrior. She rather felt like she was choosing her worthy mate this way. It was a satisfying sort of primal enjoyment, and she reveled in it.

Bulma watched Brolli descend from the air, breathing heavily despite his advantage over the Prince. Vejiita’s speed had obviously given Brolli a run for his money. She heard Vejiita-Zarshon behind her…he was speaking with Raditsu,

“Do you think he has a chance, Aash’an? I’m not sure how much longer he can take falls like that.”

“You underestimate your own son, My King!”  Raditsu’s voice startled her to attention.  “He may be able to take several more falls just like that one. What I’m concerned with is the Kassha’hal’s energy advantage. He’s maxed out right now at 900,000. Another direct hit could send Vejiita-Zarshi into knock out.”

Bulma felt her tongue leap out and caress her bottom lip.  A cruel thought passed through her wickedly crafty mind. She swiveled around and leaned against the railing to face the Monkey King and Captain Raditsu. Her hair tickled delicately across the line of her jaw.

“Most interesting, Aash’an.  Then, what is the Prince’s current reading?”

Bulma watched with supreme amusement as Raditsu’s expression went into a state of utter, dumbfounded irritation. His mouth hung open for a few seconds, and Bulma made sure to trace the outline of his lips with her eyes. She wondered if the King had noticed. Finally, Raditsu tapped the button on his scouter and studied the crouching body of the Prince. He brought his scalding eyes back to her.

“Prince Vejiita tops off at 550,000, Shal’ba. His main objective now should be to avoid Shakan Brolli all together until he gives up-- _if_ he gives up.”

Bulma raised one eyebrow and let her eyes travel the length of Raditsu’s body, then back to his face again. She let her lips fall into a pout that would have melted the heart of a god.

“Such a shame…” She fixed her eyes upon the King and folded her hands in front of her. “I had _so_ hoped to see Vejiita-Zarshi take a victory, Sire.”

The Monkey King’s face fixed in a smirk that told her more than she should know.

“Many thanks, Shal’ba Bulma.  I’m sure he would be pleased. But you speak too soon, Lady; Vejiita has not lost yet.”

Bulma allowed her gaze to settle on Raditsu once more, and he raised an eyebrow. A look of bitter interest crossed his black eyes, and he then turned his head back towards the arena. His wild hair rustled as a great gust of wind blew it back from his face.

 _Kami…_ Raditsu was gorgeous; she could at least give him that.  It was too bad he had been such easy prey _._  It was no matter though, her sights had been set now on what she knew to be her next goal:  the Saiya-jin no Ouji.

Bulma gave Raditsu one more winning smile, and then turned her body slowly back towards the action in the arena.  She focused her attention just in time to see Brolli powering up for an attack—only to be side swept on his left by the Saiya-jin Prince.  Bulma felt her palms begin to sweat as the two warriors clashed bodies, and Brolli blocked a series of punches from Vejiita.  Finally, the Kassha’hal roared and tensed his arms, pushing the Prince backwards several feet in the air.  Bulma gasped as Brolli’s head came forward violently, smacking Vejiita’s with a loud _thwack_.

Vejiita-Zarshon stood behind her as his son came crashing to the ground, breaking some of the tile that covered the showground floor. He chuckled slowly and leaned backward towards Raditsu.

“I have a feeling that if Vejiita recovers from that he won’t be very amused.”

Bulma heard Raditsu dare a small laugh.

“Agreed, Zarshon-kalan.”

There was a rumble…  A soft, groaning inside the ground as Vejiita’s voice rose from the hole in the ground until it could be heard in a painful echo all around the surrounding area. Bulma caught the look of anxious resolve that crossed over Brolli’s features as Vejiita’s scream became louder. The entire hall fell silent as the Saiya-jin Prince exploded from the point of his impact with the ground, his aura burning near to violet.

Blood cascaded down the side of his face and dripped onto his lips, which he licked conspicuously, and then he snapped his palms together in front of him. There was a brief moment of utter and absolute silence until Vejiita growled and fashioned another huge amount of energy in the center of his hands. Brolli’s eyes widened until the blue shade of them had turned a terrifying hue of lavender.

“I THIRST FOR YOUR BLOOD, KASSHA’HAL!”

The raw power in Vejiita’s voice suddenly turned Bulma’s blood cold.  And yet, she reveled in it. Her whole body then went hot with the pressure of his voice on her ears.  She shifted in her seat and pressed both palms flat on her thighs.  The Prince’s declaration had sent a rousing cheer through the once silent crowd of Saiya-jin spectators.

Bulma grinned evilly as Brolli’s mouth turned upward in a defiant smirk. That look would be the death of him someday, she was sure of it. Vejiita’s blast flew directly at Brolli’s chest, but the Kassha’hal laughed aloud and clenched his fists, puffing his chest out as though he were initiating a mating ritual. The ki blast crushed against him, and he howled until it had finally dissipated beyond his trembling body. The Shal’ba Bulma nearly swallowed her tongue as Brolli lunged at the Saiya-jin Prince and gripped his neck in one massive fist.

The crowd of onlookers gasped again as both warriors sailed towards the ground and tore apart the sound barrier with their auras. Bulma flinched and squinted as they made contact with the stone floor, and Vejiita-Zarshon came to his feet, leaning on the bar. There was a quiet earthquake beneath their feet, and then the stone scattered in several directions.

 _I certainly hope we can manage to repair this place._ Bulma thought grudgingly as she watched the two warriors’ forms appear in the smoke. To her dismay, she quickly realized that Brolli still had a firm hold on Vejiita-Zarshi’s neck…but her throat warmed and filled with thick giddiness as she saw the same smirk on Vejiita’s face that had decorated Brolli’s only moments earlier.

The hall began to echo with Vejiita’s harsh, strangled whispers.

“Kill me.  I dare you, Kassha’hal!”

Bulma barely held in her giggle of admiration and attraction. The Monkey King, however, did not find it so entertaining, and he drew back his cape, flaring blue-purple ki into the atmosphere. The Elite guards fell to one knee, one hand each pressed to their chests. Bulma bowed her head and flinched against the bellowing voice of Vejiita-Zarshon.

“THE MATCH WILL END HERE!”

The words sent a halting sort of terror throughout the hearts of everyone present, Saiya-jin or no. Brolli’s face fell slack from its bright rage and blind violence; his fingers fell loose from Vejiita-Zarshi’s neck. The Prince fell backward and coughed more than once, sending a spew of blood across the remaining clean, white tiles. There were a few short gasps and cries from the crowd, and Vejiita-Zarshon drew a glowing white ki ball in his hands.

“This has gone on long enough.” He declared.  Clearly he was satisfied that enough of a threat had been put upon his only heir.  A slight murmur of disappointment rumbled through the crowd but the Monkey King continued, his voice creating shockwaves in the room.

“I fear it will be difficult in deciding a winner.”

Bulma lifted her eyes and scrutinized the heaving, sweaty men with glazed eyes. Each one played the part of warrior with distinct ease and grace. But something in Vejiita-Zarshi’s eyes told her that it had been more than a spar for him, more than a test of strength. She intended to find out… The crowd began chanting again.

The King touched her shoulder, and Bulma nearly started with the energy that surged through her as a result of his charged ki. Raditsu’s eyes lifted from where he was still kneeling. To Bulma’s dismay, the black depths of them crashed into her like obsidian fire. And the Aash’an Raditsu briefly looked like a broken Chikyuu-jin.  In his gaze, she saw the kind of heart-broken madness that made one sick to the stomach and burned away its interior. For a brief instant, Bulma felt sympathy and guilt wash through her at the speed of sound. The sound of the King’s voice burned away the foreign feeling and cleared her mind.

“As it is, one _must_ be declared!”  He proclaimed.  Bulma shuddered as the Zarshon’s fingers traveled delicately over her bare shoulder. He turned to face her.  “Lady Bulma, would you care to do the honors?”

To her great surprise, the Monkey King brought his other palm towards her, the shimmering ball of static like energy dancing before her equally bright eyes. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Bulma had enough time to catch the smirk of sardonic laughter that crossed over Raditsu’s face. His shoulders moved once, and he shook his head slowly, bringing two fingers to his eyes. Bulma smiled her most winning smile and held out her palm.

“Of course, Zarshon-kalan,” she sang the words as the King brought the ki towards her.

“Can you handle the _jal’a_ , Shal’ba?” He asked, his voice full of what she thought to be genuine concern. One eyebrow rose indignantly, and she pursed her full lips.

“Why, yes, Zarshon-kalan.  I can.” A lie would not have done for the situation; she could handle ki quite well if given the opportunity.  She simply couldn’t produce it or wield it properly.

She was rather astounded when the King did not question her.  Vejiita-Zarshon moved his hand underneath hers, and she tenderly took the ki from him, knowing that the radiant trophy would be presented to the winner. The King smiled again.

“Very well,” his eyes widened with obvious curiosity. “Bestow this trophy upon the winner, as well as a kiss.”

Vejiita, still panting upon the destroyed tiles of the arena, crossed his arms and ran a tongue along the bloodied surface of his teeth. A quick glance to Brolli told Bulma that the Shakan was less than pleased.  Perhaps he already knew her intentions. The mighty Kassha’hal had bowed his head, dragged a bite across his bottom lip and furrowed his brows. Vejiita kept watching her, just watching as he had done at dinner.  His black gaze was enough to make her wonder if he would watch her like that if she were riding his cock.  When Bulma stood, the fire had already settled deep in her belly.  Poor Brolli would not admit defeat so easily though, she reasoned.

Slowly, and very slowly, Bulma made her way across the broken tiles towards the two shining bodies of the Saiya-jin warriors. Her tongue danced briefly over her bottom lip, filling her senses with the _shielka_ fruit balm she’d applied liberally before this afternoon’s spectacles. She saw Brolli’s eyes dance over her lithe figure like a man studying his enemy. _Don’t think I can’t tell how your scent changes when you think of someone else…_ He had said.  _Then, watch this, Kassha’hal!_

As she approached, Brolli let out a sigh and groaned as he powered down. The golden aura faded away, saving the blue angel from being singed by his fiery power. His re-darkened eyes now danced over her in a flurry of anxiety, and he watched as she brought her body between the two of them and concentrated the ki to float perfectly perpendicular to her soft, rising bosom.

Bulma gripped the powerful, still damp, hands of both men and lifted her eyes towards the crowd. Each was calling out the name of the warrior they believed to be the winner. Most called for Prince Vejiita of course, but there were still a good number who called out _Kassha’hal_. Truly, had the fight gone on any longer, Brolli would have rightfully been declared the winner. _But it just wouldn’t be any fun to give him what he wants right now, would it…?_

Bulma drew her lips into a smile so sensual that even the Aash’an Raditsu looked away from her and back towards the King. A moment of thought passed through her wicked little mind, and she felt a hot, searing passion ride up the center of her thighs. To her utter disbelief, Vejiita-Zarshi’s fingers had begun tickling at the base of her wrist, traveling slowly up until they hit the center of her palm.

 _Great Kami! What a cocky little beast…_ Bulma wondered if either man could sense the shiver that had made its way down her spine and into the sweet warmth that caressed her lower torso.  But of course, both of them would have.

Finally, after heavy consideration, Bulma flashed her teeth in a gorgeous smile and noted that Brolli seemed to be fighting back a snarl.  She tightened her lips in amusement as Brolli growled and stared away from her into the crowd.  With a tingling movement, Bulma slid her hand away from Brolli’s grip and dipped it onto the sweaty curve of the Prince’s neck. He met her crushing kiss with what seemed to be expectant glory.  Bulma drank happily of the Vejiita’s mouth, oblivious to the screams of joy that emanated from the spectators.

As she began to break away, Vejiita took the opportunity to suck on her bottom lip and bite it gently. When her eyes moved further away from him, she could see the anticipatory excitement building in his appreciative gaze. With all the sensuality of an exotic bird, the Lady Bulma placed her palms beneath the glowing ball of ki and moved it over to his position. She placed it before his still heaving chest and caressed it a few times before letting go.

The crowd bellowed out its appreciation as Bulma made her way back towards Vejiita-Zarshon, not completely unaware of the fact that Brolli’s eyes dug into her spine. The King grinned widely at her, and she made a mental note that the big, lumbering man was pleased at her adoration towards Vejiita-Zarshi.   _Well, there is always more than one way to skin a monkey…_

Soon, the hallway was bustling with small activity as the remainder of the spectators exited the arena. Bulma managed to slip away from the Saiya-jin Royalty, and the angry eyes of Brolli and Raditsu, in order to find solace beside the north wing balcony. She gazed out past the floating buildings of Geishan and out into the open sea. The rippling effect of the water sparkled in the mid-afternoon sun. _Strange_ , Bulma mused, _how it looks so similar to Chikyuu’s open water, deep within the Caribbean Sea._ For the first time, in a very long time, Bulma suddenly felt the twinge of homesickness creep over her stomach and into her heart.

A few thick tears made their way to the edges of her eyes, but she blinked them back. In the gentle silence, a high-pitched beeping destroyed her contentment. Rolling her eyes, Bulma reached down into the bosom of her dress and retrieved a tiny communicator. Pressing the small, indented button with her fingernail, she clenched her teeth.

“I thought I told you never to contact me while I am out of my quarters!” She hissed in heavily accented Mizuka-go. The communicator blipped when she released the button, and she hurriedly turned down the volume with a few more clicks. The communicator beeped again, and a small male voice emanated from it.

“Forgive me, Lady Bulma. But there is a matter that requires your attention in regards to the capsule production. You informed us to contact you immediately if there were ever a problem with the assembly sequence—!”

“ _Shit._ ” Bulma hissed again in her native language, spitting venom into the air.  “You mean to tell me there is a computer malfunction?”

“Regrettably…and unfortunately, Lady Bulma. It could set production of the--item in question back a few months.”

Bulma moaned quietly and rubbed two fingers against her aching eyes.

“Very well, thank you. I’ll visit the plant in a few hours. Make sure the malfunction is contained until I get there.”

“Of course, Lady Bulma.”

Bulma released the response button and slid the tiny apparatus back inside the low neckline of her dress. After sighing heavily and wondering what in the hell could have caused the production computer to malfunction, Bulma returned her gaze to where the ocean connected with the sky. Mizukashi’s horizon glowed a warm reddish-orange color in the summer. It reminded her of so many summers on Chikyuu when she’d visited the southern coast of Japan with her family, carelessly tipping away the minutes with reckless abandon. _Dammit, Bulma get a hold of yourself. There’s no more need for reminiscing…no more use for it!_

All that mattered now was the capsule production on Ten’rili, and the ease with which she would be able to conceal plasma containment devices by using them.  All that mattered was her revenge, even if it meant losing the last chance she had for survival.

 

#

 

Vejiita had been watching her for quite a while now.  Lady Bulma from Chikyuu had been perched on the balcony railing now for at least half an hour, and it was clear she had been there much longer.  It had been an hour since the end of the match, and Vejiita’s wounds had already begun to heal.  The only thing that made his blood sing with lust more than the exhilarating challenge Brolli had given him, was the sight of the Kassha’hal’s blue-haired plaything seated there like she was waiting for him.

Vejiita felt his lips quirk into a smile as she took a deep breath, her bosom puffing out nicely.  It was a sound so full of satisfaction that he wondered what it might sound like to hear his name screaming on the tails of that sweet voice.  He suppressed a growl at the heat in his groin and tightened his arms across his chest.  His tunic seemed very hot now.

She still had not noticed him, but of course she would not unless he made his presence known.  These lesser species had no skill in detecting the jal’a or even the body temperature of anyone else, not even an enemy.  He glanced around absently until he spotted a loose piece of stone in the floor.  Vejiita took one step forward and pressed his boot down on top of it until it popped and crushed under his weight.

The blue goddess turned her head abruptly toward the hall when she heard it.  Although the light from the sky was dim in this part of the palace, Vejiita could see her wide eyes transform from blue saucers to narrowed, amused and rounded almonds.  Shal’ba Bulma blinked, and she slid from the railing with a graceful twist of her body.

 “My back was facing you,” she said, “you made that noise on purpose or else I would have never known you were here.”

Vejiita chuckled faintly, and he stepped closer.  There seemed to be a gentle heat emanating from her now.

“Sneaking up on a female is no challenge, Lady Bulma.”  He replied, arrogance dancing along the lines of his mouth like the remnants of a burning flame.  Vejiita saw her cheeks tighten at his emphasis on the word “female”, but she pressed her lips together and smiled.  She cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrows.

“I didn’t realize you were still itching for one, especially after nearly being flattened by the Shakan Brolli earlier. I’d have thought you’d had enough for one day.”

The words seemed to drag like the tip of a knife through his chest, and he sneered amusedly.  Vejiita’s arms tightened and the huge muscles that framed them tensed against his slightly tan skin. Bulma seemed almost to stiffen with anxious unease at the sight of this.  He blinked once or twice.

“Flattened?” He asked, the left corner of his mouth twitching inquisitively as though he expected her to elaborate on her meaning.  The pretty Chikyuu-jin pressed a few fingers against her mouth in mock embarrassment.  Her simple movement sent a furious lust rushing through him.

“Should I find another terminology, Zarshi-kalan?” She queried, running the tip of her tongue along the ridges of her teeth. The Prince again chuckled deeply, the noise vibrating in his chest.

Vejiita clenched his fists as a wave of desire washed over his limbs completely and overwhelmingly. The sight of her shining soft lips had suddenly turned him into an amorous monster, he thought with some amusement.  He stepped forward toward her a few more steps.

“I think what you mean is--outmatched. Or perhaps—bested in combat. I am not _flattened_ by anyone, Lady Bulma. Not even the Kassha’hal.  Especially not by a woman.”

Vejiita felt his blood pressure and heart rate soar as her eyebrows arched in surprise. She looked so irresistibly attractive with such an obvious glare of anger about her face.  It was very – Saiya-jin.. _._ He wondered if she knew that. To his surprise, an amusing laugh burned from her swan-like throat.

“Many men have said as much, Zarshi-kalan…” she paused and made a move to pass by him and out into the hallway.  “But they’ve never met me.” She added. Vejiita reached out and took hold of her upper arm, then swiveled her around until her back was to the wall.  A look of enraged protest spread over her face, and Vejiita grinned widely into her shining blue gaze.

“Many _females_ have said the things you say, Lady Bulma…” he paused, bringing his fingers down to close around her wrist. To his surprise, it shook with fury. “But they’ve never met me…” His voice drew into a deep growl.

To his delight, the blue she-devil was just about his height, less an inch or so.  Vejiita leaned into her and breathed against her mouth until her lips parted in surprise.  Her scent radiated desire, and he shuddered with the power of it.  Who would have known the extent to which she’d been wanting him?

Vejiita saw anger in her eyes as he closed his other hand around her free wrist, and then took the liberty of placing both her arms above her head. In panic, Bulma brought her knee up and towards his groin. Vejiita laughed quietly this time, the end of it touching on a groan. Bulma rested her knee on his pelvis and took a deep breath.  She would, apparently, not give in without a fight.

“I’m going to give you approximately five seconds to let go of my wrists and leave. If you don’t, I shall render you helpless and spit in your face.”

This time he did laugh aloud, and his grip loosened somewhat.

“I believe you would,” he muttered with spiteful admiration. Then, “But…would you really want to do that?” Her eyes widened in shock as he closed both of her wrists in one hand and dropped the other to brush against the soft swell of her breasts.

Those glowing blue eyes fluttered shut as Vejiita’s fingers closed around one nipple, causing it to firm and tremble under his touch. His lips brushed the outside of her ear.

“Don’t be so embarrassed, _Shal’ba_. I see the way you study me.  Are you eyeing me up for your next feast?”

His palm now flattened against her back and pulled her forward towards his flaming body. The throbbing warmth in his training suit swelled against her leg like a hot iron.  She cocked her head slightly against the outstretched muscle of his arm.

“You’re so _sure_ of yourself, Prince Vejiita.  I’ve seen the way you study _me._ ”

Vejiita shivered at the little thing’s brass balls and slowly thrust his hips towards hers until her back was pinned against the wall again.

“Only I’m not afraid to admit it.”  He growled into her ear, biting down on it hard enough to indicate that he wanted to mate. Would she accept now, or later? Certainly she would not refuse!  He waited patiently for her response, licking at the corner of her jaw. The female shook beneath him and sighed as he drew small circles against the lower portion of her back. Vejiita felt his body tingle exquisitely as her giggles bounced off the stone walls in the humid air.

“How flattering, Zarshi-kalan.” She sung in his ear like a night bird.  “But I’m afraid I cannot accept at this time.”

Vejiita ground his teeth against her refusal and thrust against her more heartily this time.

“I’m curious, Lady Bulma.  Do you think I won’t be able to please you?”

Vejiita watched her suppress a moan as he gripped her backside with his free hand, then slid his fingers around until they were brushing away the high slit of material from her dress that rested on her left leg.

“Perhaps,” she whispered breathlessly.  “My lover _is_ your Kassha’hal… your Legendary Warrior.”

Vejiita felt his lips quirk at her intended insult, even as it seemed her body begged his wandering hands for fulfillment. The Prince slid his hand into her dress and danced around the edge of her bare hips. Hesitantly, she lifted her raised knee higher and locked her leg around his waist.

Vejiita felt himself throb as she pressed herself closer to him. Smirking, he stepped away far enough to allow his hand entryway between their sweating bodies. One finger lingered around the soft skin of her inner thigh, and he was pleased to find that she was already damp with need.  What a cool little liar she was.  He drew in a breath and placed the tip of his nose on hers.

“I assure you, Lady, that ascension has nothing to do with this,” he whispered harshly against her mouth. In one swift movement, he crushed her mouth in a kiss and thrust his fingers into her wet opening. The warm liquid spilled over his fingers and wet his thumb, which he curled up and over until he was brushing the trembling bit of flesh above his fingers. The desperate noise of pleasure rumbled in her throat as he muffled it with his kisses.

She was tight… so tight and wet around his thrusting fingers that his cock jumped against her, begging him to use it.   She tore her mouth away from his and gasped for air as he pressed against her bud and rubbed just firmly enough to make her body suddenly convulse, and her leg tighten around his waist.  For a split second, she met his gaze and he lifted his thumb away from her.

Vejiita smirked at the quizzical look in her eyes, and shifted his fingers inside her.  His thumb pressed down again, flicked and rubbed against her until her eyes widened in shock.  The blue goddess threw her head back and cried out much louder than he had expected.  His cock jumped again at the sound of it.  She was clenching around his fingers, hard, and he lowered his mouth to bite at her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.

Vejiita groaned into her bosom until she had finished, small little sighs escaping her lips sweetly and quietly. After a few moments of silence, Vejiita slid his fingers from her and released her wrists. The little thing tried glaring up at him with some form of irritation. But all that came from her eyes was reluctant satisfaction. He laughed through his nose.

“Surprised, Lady?” He asked, and then drew his damp fingers towards her mouth. He traced on against her bottom lip, and shuddered violently when she closed her eyes and drew her lips around it to suck generously. When she had finished lapping at his fingers, she surprised him by brushing her own digits against the stiff bulge in his pants.  Lady Bulma’s eyes were sparkling in the sunlight like the sapphire sea on Vejiita-sei.  He fought down the urge to pin her there and fuck her senseless.

“I was taken advantage of, Zarshi-kalan. Don’t expect for it to happen again soon. The next time we meet I guarantee you will not have such an easy time making me your slave.”

Vejiita crossed his arms once more and leaned into her face.

“Is _that_ how you see it?”  He laughed again, a sort of moaning sound.  Perhaps he was still in the mood for a challenge.  A very long, drawn out challenge.

“A lesser man like Brolli may have trouble resisting your affections,” he said, “but don’t underestimate me, Lady.”

Growling playfully, he nipped at the tip of her nose and turned to leave.  He could still hear her labored breathing and smell her potent arousal as he strode away.  Yes… A very long, very drawn out challenge would be just the thing for her.


	7. Chapter Six - Shyai'gen

**_Shyai’gen_ **

**“Revenge”**

**Third Cycle Moon Ten’rili: Lunar Base #3310; Planetary Observation Deck #13, Overlooking Mizukashi Orbit**

 

“You can see quite plainly from these photos that the machine was damaged in the explosion. We’re not sure what caused it, Lady Bulma. But our technicians are working currently to repair it so we can continue with production.”

Bulma examined the photographs that the Mizuka-jin Iriyon Tsiki had handed her. Clearly, it hadn’t been sabotage, but she was not altogether sure how else there could have been such a glitch in the machinery.  She sighed and glared closely at the pictures, the area around the charred machine and the way the fire had eaten away at its sides. Finally, she stretched out her arm and handed the pictures back to Iriyon. The fish-nosed man accepted. Bulma groaned softly in irritation.

“This will set production back a good three months. It’s going to take more time than you think to repair that machine…you do realize that?” Bulma felt her dreams of quick reprieve fade slowly as the scientist gazed at her with distinct, forlorn admission.

“Yes, of course, Shal’ba Bulma...”

“Oh, honestly!” She scolded in his native tongue, “Stop speaking that mindless barbaric language. It’s quite bad enough that I have to listen to it from these monkeys every day. I won’t listen to it from your lips.”

Iriyon nodded slowly.

“Of course, Shaji Bulma.”

Bulma nodded and smiled.

“Forgive me, Iriyon, it’s been…” she sighed quietly, “quite a long afternoon.”

Irritation had begun to set in when she realized just how much advantage the Monkey Prince had taken from her. She would rectify that in time. And besides, when the machine was finished Bulma would have no use for her sexual prowess any longer. Perhaps she could finally gain some respect for herself.

“Lady Bulma, allow me to show you details on the production rate.” Iriyon redirected her attention, and she briefly forgot about the Saiya-jin Prince. “Despite today’s explosion, the items that encapsulate each weapon are being produced at a massive rate. I’d say, perhaps fifty every hour. If production continues in this way, perhaps our setback may even prove to be beneficial.”

Bulma thought on this. The technique of encapsulation weapons and equipment was a sure reproduction of her late father’s work. His genius mind had created and fertilized one of the richest companies in Japan: on the entire world of Chikyuu. Bulma had managed to salvage knowledge of the formulas and quantitative reasoning that had been required if she were to reproduce her father’s capsules. She’d drawn up plans nearly one year after learning how the Mizuka-jin possessed a propensity for technological learning that far exceeded the warrior race of the Saiya-jin. The only thing that now ragged on Bulma’s mind was how fast the Saiya-jin were acquiring a tech-base. It was partially her own fault, but nothing truly could have been done once Brolli had found her making that plasma rifle on the day he’d set her free.

“Yes,” She said finally, letting her mind roam with thoughts of the Kassha’hal. How very sad he had looked in the arena that day. Bulma smirked.

“Yes perhaps you’re right, Iriyon. The more time we have for producing weapons capsules then the more we have at our disposal.”  She paused and glanced out the glass window of the observation room.  “You’ll have to excuse me for now though. I’m afraid if I’m gone much longer I’ll be missed.  You must keep up this good work, Iriyon.  I will not forget all your people have done for me.”

Iriyon nodded and smiled through the gill-like structure of his mouth.  How very kind and resourceful his people were; quite the opposite of the Saiya-jin, who were cruel and destructive no matter their destination.  Bulma had formed the resistance group nearly ten months ago. Word had it that Furiza and the Aisu-jin were interested in allying with them, but she was unsure if Emperor Furiza had shared any information with the Saiya-jin. Since the Aash’an Raditsu was the last Saiya-jin to confer with the slick and sly Aisu-jin, she intended on finding out as soon as possible.

“Yes, Lady Bulma. Please, do be careful.”

Bulma nodded, smiling despite the pain she kept skillfully hidden behind it.

“I will, Iriyon. Keep a low profile…  Even here on Ten’rili, there are eyes. Everywhere.”

 

 

**Mizukashi, Capital City Geishan; Governor’s Palace, East Residential Wing**

 

Brolli sat, reclined, on Bulma’s expansive bed inside her private chambers.  He’d gifted these to her after her citizenship ceremony, and he would never forget the look in her sparkling eyes when he’d first opened the doors to show her.  They’d been as bright as the sea, those gems of hers.  And her smile… Yes, he’d always remember that smile.  It was the one genuine thing he had ever seen etched into that beautiful face, carved like a sculpture by the loving hand of a practiced artist.  She had thrown her arms around his neck then, laughed, and let him rut her brainless – many times, he recalled – on that very bed.

But now, as he sat here waiting for her to return from wherever she had disappeared to, he wondered.  He wondered if her freedom hadn’t been the one thing he had given her that might lead her away from him instead of drawing her closer.  That was the problem with slaves, he thought with bitter doubt.  You never could tell just how much liberty to give them without making them feel too…  Confident.  Independent.  Vengeful.

Brolli heard her coming before he could smell her.  With some relief, he noted that she was not concealing her steps or even attempting to enter her rooms surreptitiously.  He fiddled with the tassel on a pillow absently as the ornate doors slid open, at the request of the comPanel.

She saw him instantly of course, and when she pressed her back against the doors to look at him he noted with a measure of dismay that her body was a taught line of apprehension.  There was a gentle sheen of perspiration near her hair line.  Absurdly, he felt the sudden desire to touch it.

“You’ve been gone for quite a while, lovely.”  He said then.  His voice was heavy, softened by the carved walls and furniture in the room.  “Any reason?”

He wondered then, what emotion it was that flicked across her gaze.  Bulma raised an eyebrow.

“My reasons are my own.” She replied, the usual vigor of her scathing humor gone.

Brolli’s jaw tightened with the change in her demeanor. He sat up on the bed and crossed his legs, then chuckled softly.  Already he could smell him on her:  Prince Vejiita.  Something inside of him had not broken yet, though, at this obvious display of her defiance.  Brolli looked at her then, really looked until she shifted in position against the door and stiffened her chin.

“Yes, I suppose they are,” he said, his voice teetering on the edge of seduction. He had not planned on it, but the wave of that scent coming from her body infuriated him. And although he would not admit it fully, it fueled a new kind of desire for her:  the possessive, wholly domineering kind. Curious as to how she would react, Brolli stretched out his palm and patted the bed space next to him.

He watched Bulma’s face for a moment, suddenly amused by the way it contorted into confusion and slight relaxation.  He had sat here for a while now, trying to come up with the little flame’s weakness; anything that could possibly bring her down the way she brought him down. She exploited his weaknesses, why couldn’t he? And after analyzing all that had occurred in the past few days, and seeing the look on her face at this moment, he suddenly knew her weakness through and through.

“I’m in no mood to play your lurid games, Shakan.  I’m quite tired and would like to nap before dinner.” Her response was what he had expected, but her retort lacked the usual potency and poison that came with it. Brolli grinned happily.

“Tired?  Shall I put my hands to good use and ease the tiredness from your limbs?”

He saw her watch him carefully, taking in every movement with the precision of a cat. She was no fool, but he only needed a few more moments…

“I’d rather bathe first, Shakan.  If you’ll forgive me. Perhaps I can take you up on your offer later.”

Brolli nearly sighed aloud in satisfaction. There was the first brick of her impenetrable wall, now for the next. He frowned rather pitifully, going against his better principles.

“Have you forgotten, Lady Bulma?  The King has called a meeting of state, and I am to attend. No doubt, it will go on for hours. I don’t think I’m willing to wait so long.”

Bulma became indignant, and her face flashed a brilliant shade of red.

“Honestly, Brolli!  Is that all you monkeys do is mate?”

With those words, the edge of Brolli’s patience was all but gone.  But he did not allow it to show, knowing she would possibly derive more delight from that than all the physical pleasure he could ever give her. He took a deep breath and leaned back on his powerful arms.

“Bulma…” He said, with great effort. Her face seemed to tighten at the sound of her name on his lips.  “Your insolence used to be attractive, but now all it does is annoy me.”

Bulma’s eyebrows arched clear off of her forehead, and she stifled a laugh.  She then covered the outburst of it with her mouth. Brolli clenched his jaw muscles tightly, and when she had gained control of herself, she said,

“Insolence?” She said through gasps of air.  “Gods, Brolli!  You have such a keen sense of humor. Since when does a free woman have to watch her insolence, hmm?”

Brolli had tried long enough, he decided, and he dematerialized. Bulma stopped laughing when he appeared in front of her. His ki was flaring a deep shade of blue, mirroring the blaze of her hair. Brolli stepped forward and leaned into her face.  Her body shuddered visibly.

“I think sometimes, Lady Bulma, that you fail to remember just who I am.  Gods…  I could rip out your pretty throat if I really wanted to, do you know that? Or have you forgotten? I could stop your heart with a flick of my wrist!”

Her eyes were wide with horrified anger now, all traces of cynicism and laughter gone from her sea-blue gems. She was shaking, and the sheen of sweat on her neck was elevating the scent of the Prince on her skin.  It tingled inside his already heightened sense of smell. He snarled softly, running a burning finger down the curve of her neck. She gasped angrily.

“How dare you!” She snapped, but he noted that she did not brush his finger away.  “You wouldn’t touch me to kill me, not even if I spoke out as your sworn enemy, Brolli.  And you know it!”

Her words caused a rush of livid desire to course through his heated veins. Brolli cursed his libido and let his eyes flash a brilliant shade of turquoise, just to remind her again.

“Are you sure about that, lovely?” His hand fell down to the soft curve of her heaving breasts, and he traced the outline of her nipple. Bulma let out a snarl of her own and stepped away from him. Anger had clouded his reason, and he gripped her arm, twisting it behind her back. She growled aloud this time and struggled in his grip. Brolli lowered his mouth to her neck. She stopped struggling when he began to speak.

“Do you think I can’t smell him all over you?  Do you think I can’t smell the Prince on your skin?”

Bulma’s chest heaved with the force of her breathing, and she trembled under his probing free hand. It drew lazy circles on her abdomen.

“I am not your slave, Brolli!” She hissed. “And besides,” she gasped for air as his hand snaked lower against her thigh.  “Believe whatever you want!  If you smell him on me it’s only because he cornered me. Much as you would like to place the blame on me, I was not the pursuer.”

Brolli chuckled again, his voice rumbling against her skin, and Bulma shuddered once more.

“I’m not concerned with that, Lady Bulma.”  Brolli’s voice husked in her ear, “But, perhaps you should be aware; you may not be my slave now, but I could easily, and would gladly make you one again. I could keep you chained to my bed day and night, _larushinta_ … I’d have you squirming and _screaming_ for me to touch you every fucking night! And you wouldn’t have a word to say about it--would you?”

Bulma’s lips twitched, and just a trace of fear flashed through her face when he looked at her again.  Those dangerous, plump petals curled around her teeth daintily as she smiled.

“I suppose not, _Kassha’hal_.”  She replied, her voice thick with loathing. He could feel that hatred all the way down to his bones. “So?” She said, “Make me your slave again, Brolli! Do it!  Then you can use me just like any other whore. Is that what you want, Kassha’hal? To see your precious blue goddess waste away, chained to the foot of your furniture?”

To his own surprise, Brolli’s grip on her arm tightened, and he leaned forward to lick her neck.  Just before he lost sight of them, he saw that her eyes had turned a shade of dark blue and that they were wide with shock.

“If it would calm that tongue of yours, _Lady Bulma,_ perhaps I would.”

Bulma’s muscles tensed against him as he took both sides of her face in his hands.  At first contact, she struggled against his kiss.  But there was a kind of sweet acceptance in her mouth once she realized she was fighting a losing battle by struggling from his hold. His hands firmly gripped her backside and shoved her against him.

Before she could change her mind, he had her pushed up against the wall, her legs encircling his powerful waist. Brolli’s obvious, hot arousal pressed into her warm center but he paused, hovering over her as though he were unsure of his next action. She gazed longingly down into his lustful gaze, and then suddenly the tenor in his chest changed.  He felt angry and possessive, wholly commanding as he gripped her waist again.  She whimpered against the pain it surely caused.

“Everything you are belongs to me, Blue Goddess,” he whispered cruelly.  Her lips trembled as she gasped against his mouth.  “Don’t forget, you are nothing without me.”

Bulma continued to stare at him in outrage and confusion until he pushed his painfully hard cock into her quickly and forcefully.  When she squealed, and threw her head against the door, he knew he had gone too far.  Dammit, he’d wanted to do it slowly…  Love her, caress her, adore her...  _That_ was her weakness, he’d learned.  That was what she truly wanted, and never allowed.

But as she dug her fingernails into his magnificent back, full of anger and passion, he was already too far gone.  He pumped himself into her so hard, so fast now that she was already keening against his shoulder and tugging at the hair on the back of his neck.  Her sweat-slicked thighs clutched at his hips, and she begged – no – ordered him for release.  The gods damn her!  Damn her to a thousand afterlives of torment!  He bit the soft lobe of her ear and hissed into it.

“I promise you, _larushinta_ …  I promise you, lover.  You will never want another man by the time I’ve finished with you. You’ll know there is only me.  Only me for the rest of your life.”

 

#

 

Vejiita-Zarshi pressed his back into the padded chair that sat next to his father’s empty one.  At the head of this long table, the lot of them looked daunting enough, he decided. This meeting had a simple purpose; to decide what to do about those slick-skinned Aisu-jin bastards. Just thinking of that pretentious, purple-headed freak, Furiza, made Vejiita’s blood boil. He’d seen enough of the Aisu-jin Emperor in the past year to last him twelve lifetimes.  The Aisu-jin had long been open about their distaste for the Saiya-jin Empire.  The war to win Yuki-sei had been long and bloody, from what Vejiita remembered as a young boy.  But the Aisu-jin planet was rich in valuable resources; the Saiya-jin had not given up so easily before victory.

Sadly, the time for talk had well passed for the Saiya-jin and the Aisu-jin.  Furiza had enough military power behind him now to initiate a full-scale attack, and Vejiita was convinced that Furiza had every intention of doing so if they did not respond to his requests simply and quietly. 

And the requests? Vejiita was hard-pressed to accept any one of them as heart-felt and genuine. After his most recent conversation with the Aash’an Raditsu, he had managed to convince his father that Furiza’s generosity could very well just be a ploy to mask his true intentions.

The decision to involve the Shakan Brolli in this action had been a subject of heated debate. Many, including the Prince himself, objected to Brolli’s involvement simply because he was far from expendable. The Saiya-jin Empire had yet to discover what kind of tech-base the Aisu-jin housed within their walls, and the gods only knew what kind of weaponry they had in their possession. And since Vejiita had heard about a possible Mizuka-jin resistance faction in league with Emperor Furiza from Raditsu…the risks were too great to name. Even Vejiita could admit that he had yet to achieve the kind of ascension that Brolli had been able to…though he intended to do just that.

But many agreed with the Shakan’s involvement, saying that with his strength, and the combined forces of Vejiita-Zarshi and their army of Elite warriors, a strong tech-base would mean precisely dick for the Aisu-jin in the grand scheme of things.

Vejiita had to chuckle to himself when he thought of this naïve assumption. The advisors and guards that his father kept so close to heart had grown old and ignorant, much like the King himself, and would not admit to any kind of fault or defect within the Empire. But Vejiita saw many defects…  Many indeed.

The council was quickly brought to order when the King entered, Brolli following close behind him. Vejiita noted the rather uneasy demeanor of the Kassha’hal as he shifted in his seat. He wondered, absurdly, whether or not Brolli had had the chance to smell him all over his precious Chikyuu-jin…

Every warrior and guard was now on his or her feet, and Vejiita joined them, crossing his arms indignantly across his broad chest. Once the King had taken his seat beside the Prince, each Saiya-jin followed suit and waited for him to begin the discussion. The Prince, however, was well aware that this “discussion” could quickly turn into a frenzied argument if each elder, advisor and soldier had his or her say.

Vejiita let his eyes rest upon the Kassha’hal briefly. Brolli’s eyes pinpricked every being present in the room, and Vejiita had to suppress a smirk of admiration. The man certainly had his bearings; he never left a stone unturned. After all, the Empire had not been without scandal in the forty years his father had been King. Everywhere, there were eyes.  And everywhere there were a pair waiting to stab you in the back.

Brolli’s eyes came to rest upon him, and they regarded him nearly as cautiously and virally as he had eyed the others in the room. Vejiita let a crushing and thoroughly poisonous smile creep across his mouth as the bigger warrior glared in his direction, and he narrowed his eyes.  So he had smelled him on his blue goddess.  _Good…_ Before Vejiita had the chance to chuckle, his father stood.

“I would call upon the Shakan Brolli to begin this council,” he said, the booming tones of his voice echoing in the hall, “Kassha’hal, would you please?” Brolli’s eyes left Vejiita’s, and the Prince watched curiously as the other man stood.

“Suukah, Zarshon-kalan.”  He replied, pressing his palms together. After a few more seconds of silence, he said, “It has recently come to my attention, that there is a small resistance faction in existence among the natives of Mizukashi.

“Word has it that they operate off world, explaining why I have had no knowledge of it until now. We are not sure yet, but they may be allied with the Emperor Furiza and the subordinate worlds to which he holds a certain sway.” Brolli paused, and tilted his head towards the Prince, more or less for effect Vejiita decided. His eyes shifted to the Raditsu.

 “Aash’an, you say that when you met with the Aisu-jin, they were particularly amiable?”

Raditsu nodded, and Vejiita saw him move slightly in his chair.

“Yes, Kassha’hal,” he replied, “the Aisu-jin have never been so hospitable. They were, however, most interested in Mizukashi.  Furiza seemed anxious to increase several mineral deposit shipments at no extra cost to our credit, as long as we allowed him to begin shipment to Mizukashi.  He was insistent in this.”

“And what is the ‘penalty’ if we do not accept his offer?” The King cut in. Raditsu stretched his neck out and leaned forward.

“They made no outward threats, My King,” he replied, “but I would not overlook one just yet. The Emperor Furiza, though long a subordinate of our Empire, has several hundred source and trade routes ready to provide him with everything he needs to launch a rebellious on Vejiita-sei herself. It would be--ill-advised to underestimate them.”

“Well said, Raditsu,” the King said, then motioned back to Brolli. “Kassha’hal, you have great influence and power on Mizukashi, not to mention strong knowledge of their native habits and intelligence factors, their contacts and interests. What do you say? Is it possible that the Mizuka-jin have made a secret alliance with the Aisu-jin?”

Vejiita watched Brolli carefully, and he was slightly disappointed to see that the Shakan had come to this meeting of state fully prepared and confident in his knowledge. Vejiita had hoped for at least a partial disappointment.  It would raise his own position on the bar so to speak.

Brolli shrugged, noncommittal.

“I am unsure of the facts, Zarshon-kalan…” he said, and then, “But I am sure that there are many Mizuka-jin who are distrustful and hateful towards the Empire, Sire. Many of them adore me.  They adore your decision to make them into a sovereign world under your crown. But many of them do not. It is not implausible to say that this ‘resistance faction’ could have allied with Furiza—?”

“But you, with all your great strength, Kassha’hal,” an elite warrior chimed in, “would that not be enough to quell this little rebellion? Surely, with an army behind you, you could wipe them out in less than a day.”

Brolli smirked, and Vejiita was slightly impressed by the way it resembled his own. The Shakan replied in the way Vejiita had hoped he would.

“I appreciate your confidence, Officer.”  He replied with a smarmy grin.  “But even with the extreme power you witnessed today in the arena, I would be hard pressed to avoid plasma rifles and ultra-sonic cannons. None of the warriors here today would have a chance of surviving a direct hit by either of them. And the gods only know what other kinds of weaponry the Aisu-jin could have at their disposal.”

“What say you, my son?”  The King turned to Vejiita.  What have you learned from the natives after being here only two days?”

Vejiita lifted his elbow from the table and sat up straight. He could see the way Brolli eyed him again, eagerly awaiting his response. Vejiita cleared his throat.

“I know only this; the Mizuka-jin tech base is historically more advanced than ours. But, it is quite obvious that they lack the energy manipulating techniques and brute force that power our own army.  Before Furiza can convince them that his cause is superior to ours, I say we make a better offer.”

There was a low rumble of agreement, and Vejiita saw Brolli tilting his head to the side and nodding in reluctant agreement. The Shakan smiled a waning smile and reclaimed his seat. The king stood again.

“Very well, then.”  He concluded with a sigh.  “What say you, members of the council? Do we work with Mizukashi against Yuki-sei? Or do we agree to Furiza’s terms?

The vote was unanimous for a tech treaty with Mizukashi.  Vejiita admitted privately that it may not completely eradicate the rebellion, but could quell and subvert it back to their advantage.  After the meeting was dismissed, Vejiita waited by the door with his father until they left. After a short walk down the corridor, he leaned to his father and told him that he’d be retiring to his chambers until dinner. The King nodded and continued a particularly boring conversation with the officer beside him.

Vejiita ‘hmphed’ and made his way down the east hall of the palace towards the guest wing.  Perhaps, after a much needed soak in his tub, he could visit the Chikyuu-jin Bulma’s chambers.  He wondered if, by now, she’d already been waiting for him with a bow tied around that soft, silky neck of hers.

His ruminations were cut off directly by the materialization of the Kassha’hal Brolli. He watched as the warrior sparkled into view, and his fingers dropped from his forehead. Vejiita stared at him for a moment, utterly dumbfounded, yet curious as to why the man had interrupted his stride. Brolli stood; staring also, and then took a deep breath.

“I see you have no love for the Aisu-jin, Zarshi-kalan. I had hoped that we were on the same wavelength.”

Vejiita’s eyes narrowed considerably, and he tightened his fists against his chest. What was the fool getting at anyway? He nodded curtly, but said, “I appreciate your concern, Brolli, and your loyalty.  But I don’t believe that’s why you’ve stopped me in the middle of the hallway.”

Brolli’s eyes sparked brightly with the light of confrontation. Gods, it was so Saiya-jin that it made Vejiita’s head sing with the thrill of the _dothra-saahkehm:_ the blood-scent, as it was known to them. Brolli lifted his chin a bit and crossed his own arms in a defensive stance.

“You have keen observation, My Prince.”  He said. Vejiita smiled, very slowly and very calmly.

“How a-propos, Kassha’hal, I was just thinking the very same thing about you. But you see, none of us can afford not to be observant—least of all me.”

Brolli nodded slowly and let his nostrils flare.

“Truly stated, Prince Vejiita.  Suukah.”

Vejiita gritted his teeth together and felt something in his blood begin to boil.

“I’m rather in a hurry, Kassha’hal.  Forgive my rudeness, but would you get directly to the point?”

Brolli tried to remain respectful, he noted, but was wavering upon the edge of insolence as he spoke.

“I see you’ve taken a liking to the Shal’ba Bulma,” he said, with a hint of amusement in his voice, “or rather, I suppose I should say I _smell_ it.”

Vejiita lifted his left eyebrow.  What a keen sense of humor Brolli had!  Surely, he was not _jealous_ or, gods forbid, _territorial_ in the regard of the Chikyuu-jin.

“Perhaps I have, Kassha’hal,” Vejiita admitted, his mouth quirked spastically.  “Is there something you find—displeasing about that, Brolli?”

Brolli’s lips, Vejiita saw with surprise, were twisting into a snarl.

“Do you mean to mate with her?” Brolli growled, his nostrils flaring dangerously and his aura changing colors rapidly.

Vejiita was taken aback by the informalities being thrown around as though he were a third-class soldier. Brolli was not of a low class either, what exactly was he attempting? Vejiita shifted on his feet.

“I don’t believe it’s any of your business, regardless of the fact that I’m speaking with _you,_ Kassha’hal. The Prince of Vejiita-sei may mate with whomever he pleases.”

Brolli had the balls to chuckle heartily.

“Then you have no idea what you’re walking into, do you, Zarshi-kalan?” He asked, staring down his nose at Vejiita as though he were the Prince. Vejiita flared his jal’a suddenly, and Brolli only backed down only a few inches. He clenched his fists and brought them down from his chest.

“Guard your tongue, Kassha’hal, or I will see fit to have you confined— _after_ I’ve blasted your reproductive organs to _fuck all_.”

Brolli did not fall to his knee as he should have, and Vejiita knew at that point that the Governor of Mizukashi had been too poisoned by the female to think clearly and rationally. The Kassha’hal struck his energy instead of flaring it, and Vejiita had to brace himself for the energy storm. He ground his feet into the marble surface below them. Brolli flattened his palms.

“ _Could_ you?”  He snarled, his voice morphing into the monstrous growl Vejiita had heard only yesterday in the arena.  Vejiita roared aloud and restrained himself from reaching inside the man’s chest to rip out his heart.

“How DARE you!” He bellowed. “Perhaps you should get a grip on your cock, Brolli, before it gets you killed!”

The Kassha’hal called out in rage and flashed his eyes a brilliant blue. Vejiita had to admit his slight anxiety, as he recalled with vivid memory the feeling of being pummeled to the ground by Brolli’s fists.  But he held his ground out of sheer rage.

“If you mean to claim what is mine, I have no choice--!” He paused and slapped his palms together once, then stretched out his arms wide and waited.  “You will accept my challenge, Prince Vejiita!  I call your strength to a _jyuu-shallak!_ ”

Vejiita was utterly astounded.  That a warrior such as Brolli would call an ancient challenge to claim possession of a female was unheard of!  But Vejiita, in his rage and under the shadow of his bruised ego, held out his own arms parallel to Brolli’s and flared ki spheres in between their hands.

“Then you shall have it, Kassha’hal!”  Vejiita shouted above the howling energy storm around them.  “ _Jyuu-shallak_ it shall be!”

 


	8. Chapter Seven - Yasa'kemmen

**_Yasa’kemmen_    **

**“Foolish Heart”**

 

 

“You are a fool, boy.” The King muttered, despondent. “I am well aware of your short temper and immeasurably large ego, but I did not think I had raised a fool!”

Vejiita rolled his eyes and kept his arms firmly crossed against his puffed up chest.

“I am not a _fool_ , Father.”  He snapped, venom dripping from his lips. “Would you rather I had refused the challenge like some piss-ant weakling?!”  His voice was rising slowly and insistently, threatening to ignite his ki cloud. The King growled at this display.

“YES!” He bellowed, turning to face his son and flaring his ki like a stabbing knife. “I admire your gallantry, Vejiita, but admit this once that you are outclassed! We pay homage and respect the Kassha’hal Brolli for that very reason! He outclasses each and every one of us. And until another one of us can reach his level of ascension, _no one_ can best him in combat. No one, Vejiita, not even you.”

The Saiya-jin Prince ground his teeth together and shot deadly eyes towards the ground. When he lifted them again, his fiery ambition seemed to be pouring from each pore.

“I can reach his ascension, _Kantak_. Father…  If you’d only let me prove myself--!”

“No!” The King interjected, clenching his fists. “What part of it don’t you understand?! The Kassha’hal will pound you senseless into the ground. And in case you don’t recall, _fool,_ the jyuu-shallak is a fight to the death!”

Vejiita felt a characteristic smirk creep up on his face.

“I am well aware. I had high hopes that the rules would not be changed.” He was also well aware that Brolli was standing silent outside the King’s closed chamber doors. He wondered if his father could sense it. His guess was no.

Vejiita-Zarshon sent a glare towards his son and turned to take a seat in his large plush chair. He stared at Vejiita-Zarshi for quite a long time before speaking again.

“I refuse it, Vejiita. You _and_ the Kassha’hal will both learn that there are more important things to worry about now than a pretty little fuck toy! Gods…  With that slimy bastard Furiza breathing down my neck, and a band of stinking, fish-nosed Mizuka-jin conspiring against my throne, you’d think my own son would have enough sense to keep his eye on the true prize:  Furiza’s rotting corpse!”

Vejiita uncrossed his arms and held tensed fists at his sides. He forced down his pride for the time being and powered down.

“As you say, Father. Forgive my ignorance.”

Vejiita-Zarshon watched him carefully and retrieved a wine glass from a servant’s tray.

“I know you much better than that. You say you will obey me now, and so I must trust that. But heed my words, Vejiita; _stay away_ from Brolli. When this mess with the Aisu-jin is taken care of, then you can concern yourself with such ridiculous matters as _females_.  And while we’re on the subject, stay away from the Chikyuu-jin for the moment as well.”

Vejiita growled deep and low in his throat. He knew damn well that his Father could sense the pheromones wrecking havoc on his scent… _he knew it._ He tightened his fists and felt the bunched muscles there begin to cramp.

“I will see the woman if I wish it,” he said, knowing it would provoke his Father…not caring, “the Kassha’hal has no claim upon her, no mark.”

The King sipped his wine and raised his brows.

“Then I will have to assign guards to your quarters and to accompany you day and night, Vejiita. I will not have an enraged Brolli ripping you a new gut. Just remember that I warned you. And there will be NO jyuu-shallak.”

Vejiita cringed against the refusal, but crossed his arms once more and nodded curtly.

“No jyuu-shallak,” he repeated. And then, “But the Shakan will not rip me anything.  He wouldn’t dare.”

“Perhaps not,” the King said thoughtfully. “But females have a strange power over their men, Vejiita, you know that by now. That blue-haired scientist has already clouded Brolli’s mind; obviously, or he would not have challenged you in the first place. And if you’re not careful, yours will be too.”

Vejiita smirked and “harrumphed” cruelly.

“I am not so weak,” he sneered, “no woman has that kind of power over me.”

The King sat up straight and leaned forward.

“Oh, no?” He chuckled for a moment and then leaned back into the plush padding of the chair.  “Gods…those words sound so repulsively familiar. Get out of my sight for now, Vejiita. I have other things to think about. If you want to make yourself more useful, see how much more you can find out about this resistance group. I have need of your sharp mind, my son. Use it to your advantage.”

Those words at least brought a boost to Vejiita’s damaged self-esteem, and he smiled wickedly.

“Very well, Father,” he paused and brought his feet together, then bowed.  “I will bring you more information at the end of the day.”

The King raised a brow and cocked his head to the side.

“Excellent,” he said, voice full of disdain. “Get to it. And remember my words, this day, Vejiita. You are my only heir.  I won’t have you casting your life to the wayside for such trivial matters.”

The Prince nearly sighed aloud with exasperation, but he saw the truth in his father’s eyes and nodded, blinking.

“Of course, Kantak.”

With that, the Prince took his leave and threw open the old chamber doors with a heavy slam. Once they had closed behind him, he stopped and glanced to his right. In the shadows stood the heavy bulk of the Kassha’hal Brolli. The other man was regarding him with cool eyes and a resting ki. Vejiita wanted to rip out his throat…

“It’s quite lucky for you that my father could not read your subdued ki, Kassha’hal.”  He said, seething red anger.  Brolli smiled gently and pushed himself from the wall. He uncrossed his arms, and his metal wristbands clinked together. Vejiita snarled quietly. Brolli’s body tensed, and he breathed in.

“Lucky indeed, My Prince.”  He paused and began heading down the hallway.  “If there is no jyuu-shallak, then there is no debate.  Bulma is mine.”

Vejiita tempted his fate one last time and shouted to Brolli’s retreating back.

“The last time I met with your _female_ , Brolli, she did not seem to think so.  She is no slave, as you say.  So, let _her_ do the choosing.”

Brolli’s back contracted tightly and he swiveled around to face Vejiita.

“Very well,” he said through his teeth. Then without any more hesitation, he said, “But why should she want gold when she can have platinum, Zarshi-kalan?”

The words infuriated him, but Vejiita suppressed his temper long enough to run his tongue over his lip.

“A metal is often not so worthy of its luster, Kassha’hal.”  He paused and tilted his chin to the side, grinning evilly.  Brolli snarled through his upper lip and nodded.

“Suukah.”

 

#

 

Bulma stood in her lab, clutching the small device in her hand and poking at it with her static stabilizer.  No need to get shocked now, was there? The pin-sized point of the tool made a tiny little spark inside the device she held within her hand, and then it was safe to open it fully.

She studied the inside of the plasma equalizer with squinting and curious eyes. The small thing had been enough to cause the detonation inside the factory on Ten’rili. Bulma poked her index finger inside the swirling nucleus that she’d designed herself, and watched as it flickered and opened. Without hesitation, she reached into the tool organizer beside her on the table to retrieve a small tube. The red light on the tip of it blinked in steady rhythm as she flicked on the tester and stuck the end of it into the swirling plasma. After a few seconds, the light flickered and became a steady green.

So…the plasma hadn’t been tampered with. Then what had caused the explosion? No matter though, she would have the problem contained within a fortnight. If the plasma had not been damaged then at least production of the rifles could be resumed and not much time would have been lost in the process. She wondered if there had been any damage to the encapsulated cannons that were stored next to the facility that manufactured the plasma rifles. Surely, she thought, an electrically related explosion could not have affected their stability. Bulma resolved that she would have to perform several tests on them to be sure.

Exhausted, she sighed lazily and flicked off her desk lamp, then headed for the exit. She removed her lab coat and hung it next to the door, which she leaned against before punching in her lock code to open it. The door slid open with a refreshing _whoosh_ and revealed the empty hallway.  Bulma squinted.  How odd for the corridors to be empty at this time of early evening, especially now with the visitation of the Royal Party.

Or perhaps that’s where everyone was. She had not seen Brolli since this afternoon and had retreated to her lab after waking from a deep sleep.  Bulma sneered… Brolli would pay for taking advantage of her as he had, just as the Monkey Prince would pay. Though she had more intricate and complicated ways of destroying what was left of the Kassha’hal’s pride and self-confidence.

His words that afternoon had infuriated her, enough to promise to herself that she would never allow the same kind of incident again. It was a Kami-forsaken shame that she couldn’t end it with Brolli now.  But as much as she believed that she was indeed a free woman, ending her torrid affair with him would place her in a difficult predicament. After all, how else was she to gain more information about their movements against the Aisu-jin Empire?  Detailed maps of the Governor’s Palace?  And most especially; access to her equipment and lab facilities were a necessity now. She would not be able to work without them.

Besides, being pleasured by the most powerful man in the known universe had its upsides.  Who would turn away from such an exquisite lover or turn down the promise of other experiences from his Prince’s attentions? Bulma shook her head irritably…

Soon, she knew Emperor Furiza would try to strike a deal with her, and the rebellious Mizuka-jin she had recruited.  But Bulma was unsure of what her decision would be. Incinerate the monkeys herself? Or form a deceptive alliance with the slimy Aisu-jin and make use of their strength--only to let them burn with the monkeys in the end? Each outcome was pleasant enough.  The only question remaining was; how many birds to kill with one stone?

Bulma slid her silky scarf around her neck and let it flare behind her. The soft, minty-green glow of it matched her silken dress to the mark, and she was quite pleased with it. If indeed there were festivities tonight, she would not be unprepared to say the least. She moved quietly about the hall, her sandaled feet noiselessly carrying her through the corridors and toward her quarters for a much needed soak in the tub.

She rounded the corner hurriedly and crashed head on into a large, definitely male, body. That seemed to have been her forte these past couple of days. The plasma equalizer she’d been carrying flew from her fingers, and Bulma nearly cursed aloud. Her worries were increased tenfold when she saw that the body she had inadvertently been flung into belonged to none other than the Aash’an Raditsu.

To hide her fear of discovery, and distract him, she flashed a winning smile and nodded her head once at the thick-haired warrior.

“Captain Raditsu…  You’ll pardon me.”  She flustered, and pressed a hand to her chest in mock surprise.

Raditsu watched her for a moment, and she wondered briefly if he would say a word at all.   _After all,_ she thought, _the poor thing.  I broke his heart._ Bulma suppressed a very worthy smirk and clasped her sweaty palms together. Raditsu was glancing towards the plasma equalizer, as it lay a few feet to his right on the marble floor.

“Of course, Lady Bulma,” he said finally.

Bulma’s eyes narrowed at the sound of his voice. It had truly been a while since he’d spoken to her, and the noise filled her with some kind of uncertain feeling. The idea that it could have been guilt was fleeting, but Bulma pushed it from her mind as quickly as it had come. Bulma nearly leapt out of her skin when Raditsu leaned over to pick up the plasma equalizer. He gave it a once over, and Bulma prayed to Kami that the monkey had too little tech knowledge to have any idea of what he was gazing at.  Finally, he raised his eyebrows and handed it over.

“I believe you dropped this.”

Bulma took it gingerly from his big hand and nodded a thank you.

“Many thanks, Aash’an,” she said, her voice dropping into dangerously sensuous territory.  Bulma saw that it had some sort of effect on him, whether it was conscious or not she could not tell. The Captain nodded in reply and stepped aside, fully ready to retreat from her presence completely. Bulma wanted to run to him, stroke his head and say, _aww, poor monkey. Don’t be too upset now…_ She almost giggled and then called out to him.

“Raditsu!”

The captain stopped abruptly. He looked as though he may keep walking until he finally shrugged his shoulders and turned to face her.

“Lady Bulma?” He asked, the name dancing off of his lips like poison. She carefully dropped the plasma equalizer into the pocket inside her dress skirt and took a few steps towards him. She stopped when he looked wary.

“It’s been a long time, Raditsu,” she said, suddenly very conscious of his hard gaze. He was clad in handsome Royal Elite armor, blazoning the red and black colors of House Vejiita-sei. A jet-black cape with a crimson lining flowed from his back, making the bulk of his shoulders seem even more intimidating.  Bulma smiled, a little too warmly.  “Won’t you even ask me how I am?”

Raditsu’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked as though the words she spoke were scathing to his soul. He straightened his back and cracked his neck.

“Forgive me, Lady Bulma,” he said finally, the words a croaking hiss. “I wasn’t aware that I should care about things like that.”

Bulma laughed then, a quiet lady-like sort of cackle, and she reached out to touch his arm. He recoiled at this, and she drew back slightly.

“Ever the cynic, Raditsu…” she said quietly, then, “well, I shall ask you. How have the past two years fared upon the noble Aash’an? Well I hope?”

Raditsu studied her with some scrutiny before he narrowed his obsidian eyes. His brows were nearly touching with the amount of concentration and suspicion on his face.

“As well as you need concern yourself with, Bulma.” He said, the quirks of a smile dancing upon the corner of his mouth. Bulma raised an eyebrow and stepped towards him again.

“Well, I suppose I should be glad of that.” She mewled. When she stopped walking, her face crumpled up into disappointment that could have fooled the most trained of men. She was sure Raditsu would not notice the put on. “I was…sorry that you missed the Shak’ala, Raditsu. I heard you were attending to matters of state.”

Raditsu shifted uncomfortably and tilted his head to the side.

“I was.  Also, nothing you need concern yourself with.”

Bulma almost growled at him.  This might be harder than she had anticipated. Finally, she was less than a foot from his body.  His arms tensed next to his body, and she could almost hear the _creak_ of his armor as he shifted back and forth on his feet.

“Much as you would like to believe it, Raditsu,” she said, “I am not as uninformed as you think.”

Raditsu chuckled this time; it was a cruel, haunting sort of noise. To her surprise, his hand rose slowly, and fingers brushed at some loose strands of her waterfall-like mane. Bulma’s jaw tightened when his fingers tangled cruelly in it. He leaned into her and snarled.

“Don’t tempt me with your wit, Bulma.  I have half a mind to rape you right in this hallway and toss your broken, bleeding body atop Brolli’s bed so that he can see you like the whore you are.”

Bulma refused to allow her fear to show. Much as she knew how much power she wielded when dealing with the males of their pathetic species, if Raditsu truly wanted to rape her now he would not have any trouble doing so. But Bulma had more ammunition under her belt than that.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, Raditsu,” she said steadily, pleased with the way she controlled her voice. “He’d kill you, you know?”

Bulma nearly faltered when Raditsu grinned evilly.

“To see you humiliated…  I think it would be more than enough to make me die happily.”

She creased her brow upwards and parted her lips.

“In retribution for all of your pain, no doubt? Am I right?”

Raditsu’s hand slid lower, and Bulma felt blood sing in her ears. He gripped her throat ever so lightly, and touched his lips to her nose.

“No, _Shal’ba_ …  It would not even equal half of the humiliation I have suffered at your hands.”

“Come, come now _Aash’an_!” Bulma fumbled for words under his heated breath. “Surely a true warrior such as you knows how to forgive and to forget. I was willing to offer you a truce when I saw you today.”

Raditsu’s grip tightened, and she whimpered low in her throat.

“What could you possibly have that I want?”  He snarled.  “And why would I want to give you anything in return?”

Bulma smiled as sweetly as she ever had in her life, through her fear, and reached up to curl her fingers around his wrist.  When she was about to lie, Bulma could always conjure a sickeningly sweet smile.

“I think you want information on the Mizuka-jin rebellion, Raditsu.  They trust me, you know.  I could easily find out what you want to know.”

And deceive them in the process.  If she could lead them further away from the actual base on Ten’rili, and away from her work in the lab—it would ensure more security to their cause!  Raditsu’s hand released her throat and hovered at the soft pale skin near her collar bone.

Bulma dared to lower her hand and trace the furry surface of the tail wrapped around Raditsu’s waist. His body went rigid before her, and he growled deeply in his chest. This time it was not anger that elicited the groan, and Bulma felt her lips curl into a knowing smile.

To her dismay though, Raditsu's other hand shot out from its position at his side and caught her probing digits in their tracks. And then suddenly his hand was around her throat again. Bulma growled aloud this time, and struggled against his grip. Raditsu chuckled viciously and leaned in to sneer against her mouth.

“You play a tempting game, _larushinta_.  I should have known you’d try this on me again. After all you always did need to have the last say.”

Bulma took deep heaving breaths and clasped her hands back around his wrist. _Kami!_ How she wished she’d had a finished prototype of the plasma stunner at this moment! But she made due with hands and fists at the moment.

“It’s a shame, Aash’an, that you aren’t more receptive to my offers at the moment. Shall I--?”  Her voice was cut off as he tightened his hold on her throat. Bulma whimpered and struggled.

“You shall not,” Raditsu’s voice came in clearly. “And if you come near me again, Bulma, I’ll give you _exactly_ what you need:  what you’ve been asking for.”

“Will you…?” Bulma croaked, allowing a grin to erupt on her mouth. His hand contracted more, and this time her smile faded.

“I’ll use you like you deserve to be used--!” He growled this time, and found that her feet were dangling gently in the air.  Gods, maybe he really was going to kill her this time.  Fitting…  When Bulma tried to emit an instinctual, full-fledged cry, a bellowing voice echoed through the hallway.

“ _AASH’AN!_ ”

The grip on her throat loosened instantaneously, and Bulma squealed as Raditsu hurriedly placed her back on her feet, and then dropped to one knee beside her. Bulma swiveled around to see that Prince Vejiita was standing not twenty feet away from them, his beautifully powerful arms crossed across that pride-filled chest in a stance that would have frightened even the Shakan Brolli.  Raditsu remained on his knee, and Bulma watched the scene with wide, hesitant eyes.

“Suukah, _Zarshi-kalan_ ,” the Aash’an said miserably, “forgive me.”

Bulma saw Vejiita stride over towards them, the confidence never leaving his stance--never faltering once. She bowed her head respectfully as he approached. The Prince gave her a once over, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks for a moment. His eyes left her, and Bulma watching him cross his arms over the broad expanse of his chest. The Saiya-jin who only bested her in height by an inch or two seemed a thousand feet tall in comparison to the giant Raditsu, who knelt beside her.

“Just what in all the gods’ names do you think you’re doing?” The Prince asked, his voice a gentle peal of authority. Bulma’s blood pressure skyrocketed. Raditsu’s fists clenched angrily at his sides, and Bulma raised an eyebrow with great amusement.

“I--?” he stammered, his eyes still lowered to the ground.  “Forgive me, My Prince.”

Vejiita watched the man for a moment, and Bulma saw the veins in his neck straining against his skin. _How curious!  He’s absolutely enraged._ She hid a smirk and ran the tip of her tongue against her top lip. The Prince raised his palm into the air.

“Get up,” he said, motioning for the Captain to stand. “I would advise your distance from Lady Bulma henceforth, Captain.  Unless you’d like me to repeat the same action on _your_ neck.”

Raditsu looked absolutely furious, but Bulma saw his jaw clench, and he nodded sharply. He saluted.

“Of course, Prince Vejiita.” He muttered, his fist turning white with the intensity of his frustration.

Vejiita nodded once and motioned for him to leave. Just as he had begun to stride down the hallway, a basket of nerves, Bulma saw him turn to glare at her. Vejiita was not looking. The Aash’an snarled and ran the tip of his tongue against his upper lip. Bulma wanted to laugh, but she dare not. Much as she loved teasing the gorgeous warrior, it just wouldn’t be right. When she turned back to face the Prince, he was smirking handsomely.

“You provoked him, didn’t you?”

Bulma stared at him with wide, dazed eyes, and then placed a delicate hand upon her breast.

“ _I_ , Zarshi-kalan?  Why would I do such a thing?” She smiled brightly and wondered if the gentle shimmer on her skin was as evident as it felt. She became disoriented when the Prince let forth a chuckle as sexy as the rest of him.

“Indeed,” he said, narrowing his eyelids and gazing at her with intense warmth and something akin to proposition. “Indeed, why would you?” He asked, looking entirely too curious. Bulma shuddered involuntarily and watched him carefully. She felt one eyebrow rise defiantly when he spoke again.

“Why poor Raditsu, hm? Haven’t you caused him enough grief?” His mouth twitched in dire amusement, and Bulma smiled like a thieving vixen.

“I wouldn’t worry so about the Aash’an Raditsu…” she informed him, “he has no remaining interest in me.”

Vejiita’s eyes glimmered with a cheap rip off of pity.

“Doesn’t he?” He asked, looking entirely too haughty, Bulma decided.  “What a shame.” His voice had dropped to a low murmur, and his mouth had strategically positioned itself near her ear. Bulma felt her heart rate increase a few notches when he flicked the delicate earring on her lobe and nipped at it. Only a few seconds passed before she knew what his intent was. The gesture was most obviously intentional, and Bulma smirked before slinking away from his body heat.

“I suppose I’ll have to learn how to take rejection, Zarshi-kalan…yes?” She could even feel the teasing quality in her voice without having to listen for it. But she was insistent; she had vowed not to be cornered by him again. The Prince regarded her with intrigue for a moment, and then tightened his fists at his sides.

“Somehow I just can’t see the word ‘surrender’ being part of your extensive vocabulary, not even in your native tongue.”  He said, his voice slipping into the cracks in the marbled hallway.  “You look like a woman who gets what she wants--all the time.”

Bulma raised an eyebrow.

“A keen observation, Prince Vejiita.  And I only pursue the best choice.” _But there’s no need for you to know that you’re high on the list._

Vejiita smirked and chuckled.  Bulma decided that it was a rather cruel sound. He strained his muscles a bit and phased out, reappearing just behind her. She gasped and then held it in as his hands came to rest upon her waist, squeezing in a rather domineering fashion. She tensed, more from fear than anything else, as his hand slipped near the pocket where her plasma equalizer lay hidden. Bulma tried to pry away, but his arms were too strong.

“I think you will find, Shal’ba,” his voice was tearing into her ears now, “that I am not typical of most men who fall under your spell.”

The teasing, degrading tone of his voice, paired with his probing fingers made her nearly growl aloud with frustration. Raditsu had not known what the little piece of tech was, but she could not be sure Vejiita would not.  That fact made blood pound into her ears. In a frenzy, she slid her hands over his and hoped that he could not feel the nervous sweat on her palms, if only to stop his further descent.

“Do you think so, Zarshi-kalan…?” She asked, breathless and seemingly aroused—though she was sure not for the same reason as he thought. _Kami!  They’ll send my soul to hell through a laundry machine for all of this, surely…_ The man behind her chuckled, and she found it surprisingly relaxing.

“I know so.”  His voice had dropped to a whisper, and it was the single most frightening thing she had ever heard.

Everything about it, from the words themselves right down to the tone and quality of the whisper; it made her skin crawl. She shuddered in his arms and leaned against him in a desperate attempt at fooling him into releasing her. Her body was on the verge of convulsing, and yet she craved more of his husky whisper and sweet touch.

Bulma felt a sob begin to form in her throat, and her eyes flew open when the tips of his fingers flew over her skirt pocket. They lingered there, and for a moment his hold on her body loosened. She took this opportunity to her advantage and slid away from him. She heard that voice chuckle again, and it ended on the fine edges of a satisfied growl. Bulma stared and caught her breath, unable to speak or to move. The Prince moved towards her, but did not make another attempt to ensnare her body again; though Bulma would have been hard-pressed to resist.  She knew that bitterly.

Vejiita lifted a finger and pressed it underneath her chin so that she was looking at him eye to eye. The fire beneath his sable gaze was blazing passionately, and Bulma knew then that what she had inadvertently started with the arrogant man before her was much more than she had bargained for…much, much more. He grinned again, this time looking positively aroused by her struggle. A few seconds went by, and all he did was stare--pierce her eye sockets with dizzying intensity. Bulma blinked once, and he drew a finger across her bottom lip.

“I know so, because I’m the only one in this palace who knows what you’ve got in your pocket, and what it’s capable of.  Plasma has a high ki reading, did you know, Shal’ba? Though, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

Bulma gazed on in horrified realization as he continued.

“Not many people can sense it’s reading however, it has an extremely low frequency. My father is not tech literate enough to understand the device, let alone sense its frequency. I’m sure not even the great Kassha’hal can sense when you’ve got one of those close to your breast, can he?”

Another pause, and Bulma felt a single drop of sweat drip down her spine. It itched like a madman’s delusion. Bulma snarled silently and dared to try and release her chin from his finger. She was rewarded with a sharp click when he gripped her chin and held her gaze again.

“Just what are you insinuating--?  Who do you think you are?” She hissed, becoming all too fraught with anxiety. His eyes narrowed, but to her great surprise, they were a shade less than infuriated. And he laughed softly again, the noise making gel out of her bones.

“Someone who knows how to keep secrets, Shal’ba.  If it’s in my best interest of course. You do know that plasma is a contraband product on free worlds within the Empire?  It’s excavation, use in weaponry, everything is prohibited.” She nodded slowly, fighting the desire to rip his balls off or stroke them until he groaned aloud in that same voice. Vejiita ran his tongue against his teeth when he smiled. “I’m sure you have a perfectly _good_ reason for having it though, _don’t you, Shall’la?_ ”

The sudden and unexpected use such a saccharine term of endearment as “my love” made her furious again, and she snapped her chin from his fingers.

“Say what you want!” She growled. “I was instructed by Shakan Brolli to continue scientific weapons research on Mizukashi, and I have done that. Even you are not foolish enough to make false assumptions, _Zarshi-kalan_. Plasma may be contraband within the free worlds of the Empire, but does that mean I can’t use it _for_ the Empire?  It is a powerful weapon if yielded properly.”

“One that we have no use for, Lady Bulma. The Saiya-jin have not used weapons in the four hundred centuries since our kind first stood upright and ripped out an enemy’s throat. You’ll have a hard time trying to convince anyone else of your good intentions,” he paused and grinned, “but since I’m so soft-hearted I’ll agree to keep your little criminal offense to myself.”

Bulma laughed once, the sound full of seething vitriol.

“In exchange for…?”

She watched the Prince until his grin faded, and his large, gloved hand reached out to press against her back and pull her flush against his solid chest. Bulma fought back the urge to sigh as he drew lazy circles on her lower back and nuzzled his nose against hers.

“I’m not an unkind lover.” He murmured the words against her mouth. “Unless you ask.” He paused and their lips met tenderly. Bulma cursed him, cursed herself and cursed the gentle touch of his mouth. How could he be so deceptively, yet convincingly kind and at the same time so horrifying? He breathed into her mouth once and lifted his free hand to caress a lock of shimmering azure hair.  “Let me finish what I started with you.”

Vejiita’s voice was the softest silk against her skin, and she was sure she had never heard his kind of accent before.  There was something almost magical about it.  Something supernatural.  Bulma forced her eyes open and felt her chest begin to ache mercilessly. His gentle voice, and even softer touch set a puddle of tears within the corners of her eyes…and she remembered Chikyuu…

She pushed away as politely as possible and watched his face for signs of arrogance and pride. But when she found none, she reluctantly realized that her plight was more than significant. With a few sighs of defeat and exhaustion, she lifted her chin.

“It’s your decision, Lady Bulma.”  Vejiita said.  “I asked, I did not tell,” he stopped and leaned in closer, “but I’d like it very much if I had the _pleasure_ of your presence tonight.” His mouth lingered on hers for a moment, and then he kissed her.

Bulma wanted to cry out with pain and regret; for it was the first real kiss she’d ever known since leaving Chikyuu. His mouth was sweet and soft, and it explored hers with hesitant curiosity, rather than the urgent brutality and demanding need that she was used to from Brolli, or even from Raditsu. No, Vejiita’s kiss was different. It was not just devouring and consuming, though it had these elements. No, it was passionate. It was hopeful and beautiful; kind and…and… _loving!_

Bulma broke the kiss voluntarily as the word echoed in her mind, and she refused to believe it. None of these monsters were capable of _real_ emotion, of _real_ care and concern. They were nothing more than animals:  brutal barbarians who used the innocent people of this universe as their playthings…weren’t they?

Vejiita released her and leaned backward to get a good look at her. Yes, there was the look. Perhaps the little vixen wouldn’t be as hard to tame as he’d originally thought. Every female had a weakness, even a Saiya-jin variety. Most sexually adept women could not be fooled by this act; but he saw within her the deep need to be loved despite all that she practiced and preached. It wouldn’t take long to break her down…  Not long at all.

As slowly as he could, he slid his hand from her back and waist, then turned from her and headed down the hallway. Vejiita couldn’t help the way his lips curled into a smile that was evil and wholly cruel in its own right.

 


	9. Chapter Eight - Shuku'da

**_Shuku’da_ **

**“Evil”**

*****

**Videon Galaxy Sector 1; Dynasty of the Fourth Saiya-jin Empire; Central Western Boundary**

**Planet Vejiita, orbit idle time:  6 Galactic Hours**

 

Vejiita-sei had always looked beautiful from space. Its reddish-purple atmosphere haloed the planet for miles around outside its corona, shading its solar system with bright shadow. And it was enormous. Vejiita-sei’s circumference was over twice that of Yuki-sei, dwarfing Furiza’s home planet over and over. A thin ring of cosmic dust and rock hugged its globe and twisted ever so slightly in the airless expanse of space. It was a shame really; all this beauty gone to waste on such a barbaric, primitive culture as the Saiya-jin. Furiza dipped his finger into the glass that rested on the arm of his seat. Sweetly flavored alcohol dripped from the tip of his claw, and he brought it to his mouth, studying the blinking lights of the guard pods that hung suspended over Vejiita-sei like insects. They would be hard to get by indeed.

There was a swish behind him, and a few of his own soldiers entered the bridge.

"Lord Furiza, our payload is in position. Shall we proceed?"

He pondered this information for a moment, and then regarded the outline of Vejiita-sei for another few seconds. How beautiful it was from here—so serene and perfect, just like a painting. He shut his eyes and remembered a day when such things were taken for granted on the free worlds within the Saiya-jin Empire. But such things were laid to waste by men like the Saiya-jin King’s father…such things were not allowed anymore. Furiza nodded slowly.

"Proceed.  And send a message to that female on Mizukashi. Tell her that we are in need of her cooperation now. Now more than ever."

They saluted and left, leaving Furiza to drown in the soft chattering and gentle clicking of each of his pilots. They began to pull back, and Furiza watched as Vejiita-sei shrunk inch by inch into space until it was no more than the size of a fist on his monitor. He watched as the plasma beams flew at the violet-crimson haze around Vejiita-sei. For a moment, it looked wonderfully macabre. Furiza almost wished that he could hear the children screaming on Vejiita-sei as he had so many years ago on his own planet. It would bring him peace on some level, he knew, to hear their people suffering as his had before they had reluctantly entered into a forced sovereign status, below the Saiya-jin King.

It hadn’t been an easy decision, to act quickly like this. In fact, he hadn’t liked the idea of it in the first place. But it seemed the only option. The monkeys were certainly not going to sign a treaty with the Aisu-jin any time soon, and Yuki-sei was at greater risk every day if those primitive mutants took the Mizuka-jin under their belt. If the brute force of the Saiya-jin could be combined with the tech-base of the Mizuka-jin, no one on Yuki-sei would be safe again. And Furiza knew he could not allow that to happen, no matter what the cost. How upset Vejiita-Zarshon would be when he learned; while he was off drinking purya and celebrating his "Shak’ala", his people stood and watched in awe as their planet crumbled to dust beneath them, and their strong warriors were burned and poisoned alive, unable to help.

Vejiita-sei rumbled and cracked, and the sonic boom could be heard even from this distance. Furiza gripped the arm of his chair and sat back. The violet-blood red hue was gone, and only gray rocks floated in its place. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip, then motioned with one finger to his helmsman.

"Send a direct transmission to Mizukashi. Be sure to express to King Vejiita just how sorry we are. And oh, don’t forget to tell him how we tried so desperately to ward off the asteroid as we approached the planet for our monthly tungsten deposit. I’d hate to look the villain in all of this mess."

 

#

 

 

Raditsu awoke from a horrendously deep sleep to a pounding on his guest chamber doors.  It echoed in the room over the blaring emergency alarm on the comPanel.  He groaned into the scented pillows that surrounded him and dug his fingers into the satiny blue sheets as a voice assaulted his sensitive ears.

"Aash’an!! Aash’an Raditsu! A direct request from His Majesty!"

Raditsu slid out of the bed and landed on his hands and knees before curling his tail around his bare waist and pushing himself to his wobbly feet. He tugged at the waistband of his underwear, tight on him because he’d had to request fresh ones and these fucking Mizuka-jin thought everyone had hips the size of a fish.   He readjusted them around his ample package and groaned.

Raditsu paused before opening the large doors and took a deep, deep breath. Running a hand through his unruly hair, he pressed his hand against the comPanel.  It chimed pleasantly, and the doors swished open.  They revealed a nervous-looking Elite Guard Soldier.

"What in the name of all the gods is going on?" Raditsu grumbled, shaking out his hair like fur. The guard stood there for a moment, a look of utter horror spread across his face like crimson blood. Raditsu squinted and watched the warrior gaze on in anticipatory terror.  "Out with it, Soldier!  It’s the middle of the night, what the fuck do you want?!" He bellowed, seeing how the man before him flinched. The guard finally swallowed and replied.

"Direct orders from the King, Captain Raditsu. He wants to you report to his chambers right away.  It’s quite important, Sir."

Raditsu cocked his head to the side and gazed out into the hallway beyond the guard. The hallway was deserted, and as he had observed since coming here, even during the deepest hours of the night, the hallway was never this empty. He frowned and returned his concerned eyes back to the guard.

"Tell the king I will be there as soon as possible."

The other man saluted diligently and nodded, hurrying out of sight. As Raditsu dressed, his mind was in a flurry. What could possibly be this important that the King would call on him at such an odd hour of the night? Was it the Prince? A scuffle perhaps--or a message from those bastard Aisu-jin? Whatever the reason, Raditsu did not hesitate to hurry down the hallway towards the King’s guest chambers. Once he had reached them, the guards there saluted and opened the door.  A great gust of a breeze tousled the hair hanging in front of his eyes.

The King was seated in his plush chair, chin in hand, staring out into space. Raditsu frowned. Brolli was by the King’s chair, arms crossed tensely over his broad chest.  Prince Vejiita was halfway across the room, leaned against a dark corner, face lowered towards the ground. Raditsu flexed his palms outward for a moment and decided that the sight of all these warriors crowded into one room and not saying a gods damned word unnerved him unlike anything else. Even the sight of Bulma, standing by the King’s side and eyeing him complacently, as she eyed everyone, sent crackles of uncertainty through his blood. He stood and stared for a few seconds, only to shake his head and return to the present as he approached the King’s chair and knelt before him.

"Zarshon-kalan. They said you wished to see me."

"Stand up, Raditsu."

The Captain gulped visibly and let his eyes fly around the room once before wondering what had made the King address him by his first name. Again, he swallowed his discontent and made eye contact with Brolli as he stood. The Kassha’hal’s jaw was clenched, his fists balled up underneath his powerful arms, and a sheen of sweat evident on his cheeks and forehead. Something was definitely wrong… His friend watched him carefully, and then he shut his eyes when the King spoke again.

"Aash’an…  Captain, I have called on you to make preparations within our troops.  We must activate immediately what warriors we have left.  Vejiita-sei is gone."

Raditsu squinted and felt his heart rate soar. What in all the gods’ names was he talking about? The captain frowned and locked his hands behind his back.  Something in the words was not right, no.

"Gone, Sire? I don’t understand." He hoped that his voice was not shaking as much as he felt that it was. The King lifted his head from his chin and stood from the chair. Though Raditsu was much taller, he suddenly felt as though the King were a giant.  His Majesty gulped before he answered.

"Yes, Raditsu. Vejiita-sei is gone. A few hours ago, we received a transmission from Sovereign Emperor Furiza, as his scheduled deposit was about to be made.”  Raditsu noticed the way the King’s voice changed.  "Apparently, his ship was thwarted by what appeared to be an asteroid as it approached Vejiita-sei’s interstellar port. According to him, they tried everything possible to stop it.  Even, as he put it, at the cost of their own casualties."

There was a break in the atmosphere when he stopped, and the captain swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. The words had come clearly, and needed no explanation…but somehow, somewhere in his mind they did not make sense. Raditsu cleared his throat and looked at the floor. Vejiita-sei…gone? It could not be. The Empire worshiped its Mother as dutifully as a goddess.  The bulk of Imperial Assault Brigades and Defense Battalions were on Vejiita-sei.  Gods, one Saiya-jin warrior alone, male or female, could have incinerated the rock instantaneously! It didn’t make sense… Raditsu clenched his fists tightly together and guarded his breathing.

"Sire, I—?"  The sudden and crushing pain in his chest was absolute. Suddenly it felt as though the entire palace around him was falling down onto his heaving breast. Brolli’s eyebrows were knitted together, and Raditsu knew that even the Kassha’hal had left behind family and friends to live on Mizukashi…  Now he had none. Did this mean that…?  "Sire,” Raditsu began again.  “The Saiya-jin here, on Mizukashi…?"

"Are not aware of the situation yet, Aash’an.  Nor are any of our troops stationed elsewhere within the galaxy.  We are the only ones who know--now. I will deliver the address at sunrise."  The King placed a gloved hand on Raditsu’s shoulder.  "We all mourn, Aash’an. But we must be strong for Vejiita-sei. And the Aisu-jin will pay…"

Raditsu lifted his head and squinted in the dim light. Brolli’s head was bowed, and he could see the veins in his neck pulsing with anger. Raditsu’s eyes found the Prince, who was still leaning against the wall; any trace of emotion was still shadowed by. Suddenly he was confused.

"The Aisu-jin? But, Sire—the asteroid, you said it--?”

"Not more than half an hour after Emperor Furiza’s transmission, the Prince received this on his personal transmitter." The King held out his palm, displaying a digital mini-transmitter.  He flicked it open with his thumb.

The Captain stared into the four and a half-inch screen until the face of a man he knew well flickered into view. The company Commander Nappa appeared, his face a bloody testament to the destruction of the pod behind him. The picture was fuzzy, shaking and decrepit—much like Nappa’s face. Raditsu gulped furiously, willing the angry growl to remain seated in his stomach. The commander spoke, his voice a retched, terrible piece of torn throat.

"…Must tell the King…all a lie…tell your father, boy—!"  A grunt of pain, and Nappa fell close to the transmitter screen.  "It was Furiza…I saw them…!  The plasma cannons—tell him it was FURIZA!"

This time there was a great cry of pain, and Nappa’s hand came to his mouth, cupping the river of blood that cascaded from his lips. Raditsu’s nose wrinkled not from the sight, but the words behind it.

"He does not know I am alive…but he will soon. My…crew…all dead—tell them there was NO ASTEROID!"  There was a pause, and Nappa’s face turned away from the screen to gaze out his window. A bright light shone into the cockpit of the guard pod, and Nappa’s eyes were frozen with terror.  "Vash’halla save us…  They’re all gone."  The explosion that engulfed the cockpit blinded the screen, and then it was blank.

There was silence as the King closed the mini-transmitter and turned back to face his own seat. Raditsu trembled in his armor for a moment, attempting to make sense of it all. It just did not make sense.  Not any sense!  Vejiita-sei could not fall.  And yet it had, hadn’t it?  The words were as simple as the concept itself. They were gone—all of them. Vejiita-sei housed over thirteen billion Saiya-jin, if all in the galaxy were on-planet, and still had room to spare. How was it possible that they were all gone? Could it truly be that the only Saiya-jin of this flourishing empire that remained now only thrived on the colony planets and free worlds? That population did not even equal a quarter of Vejiita-sei’s population. Raditsu held his breath, attempting to form a coherent thought.  But all that remained in his head were the last words of Commander Nappa.  _They’re all gone…_

"Give me the go ahead, Father."  Prince Vejiita’s voice came from the other end of the room. It was tired and desperate with anger.  "I will tear Furiza’s head from his slimy shoulders."

"No—!"  The King’s voice was just as adamant. The Prince growled as his father continued. "If the Aisu-jin can destroy our planet then they have more resources and power behind them then we could have ever imagined.  Our assumptions about the supremacy of our Empire have cost us. But it is a mistake we must learn to bear, that I must learn to accept."  His tongue lashed out, wetting the dry half of his mouth, and Raditsu felt the tension in the room stick to the back of his throat. The King continued, "We have underestimated the Aisu-jin, and we must not let it happen again, or one of the free worlds will be next.  Aash’an?"

Raditsu’s head came up, despite the awful spinning inside of it.

"Sire?"  His voice strained against another thought; where was his father’s security squad?  Surely, they had been contacted already, hadn’t they?  The King sat in his chair and gestured to Brolli.

"I am placing the Kassha’hal Brolli under your command. In the absence of any capable officers, you shall head both the remaining assault brigades of which you are already a captain, and our reserves that were off-world at the time of Vejiita-sei’s demise.  All the rest of the Prince’s subordinates will adhere to your word, Aash’an."

He nodded, but was slightly taken aback by the way the King had left his son seemingly out of the picture. Raditsu made a motion to look at the Prince, but was stopped when he saw Bulma.  Her face was a mixture of calm and desperation, and it made him wary. She looked upset.  But there was an emotion hiding even deeper behind those azure eyes. One that looked volatile enough to sear the skin off of every man in the room, and as usual she was hiding it quite well. He wondered if she knew how he could see it, even now after so much time away from her.  He wondered if Brolli could see it.

Suddenly the Prince left the darkness of his protective corner.  It was as though an animal had suddenly been released from its cage, and now came to the realization that its captor was a mere arm’s length away and waiting to be destroyed.  His aura was hot like a sun, and it singed the air around them.

"Father!  I wish to be given this command, as it is my duty! I will not stand by and allow others to exact their revenge on _my_ planet!"

The King smiled wanly and studied his son with pleasant admiration, though he looked quite sad.

"Yes, yes it was your planet, was it not, my son?   But who shall rule this galaxy when I am gone?  You, _jya’nehm_ …  My son, the pride of my throne and glory of my name. That is why you will not head the attack. That is why you must stay here and train.  You must defend the throne."

Raditsu frowned again as the Prince stepped forward. He was far too angry.  Vejiita was next to his father in an instant, pointing an accusatory finger and coming dangerously close to a defensive crouch.

"Fuck your throne!" The Prince bellowed.  "If we lose now, what throne will I have to defend?  I would rather die at Furiza’s hand than live knowing I did nothing to stop him!"

The King stood and growled aloud. Raditsu shifted in front of the Prince when his own father lunged at him. He gripped the King’s arm and was surprised to find that the older man still had more power than he’d expected.

"My King," Raditsu struggled under the pressure, "now is not the time for bitter words."

He felt the power release for a moment, and the Prince stepped out from behind him.

"I _will_ lead the attack!"  He roared, clenching a fist.

"You will not!" Raditsu was surprised at the volume of his own voice. Every eye in the room was upon him as he returned his gaze to the Prince. Vejiita-Zarshi’s eyes were round and full of indignant surprise until he snarled.

"You _dare_ to instruct _me_ , Aash’an--?"

"Your father is right, Zarshi-kalan!" He made sure to sound as forceful, yet as respectful as possible given the circumstances, though he was sure that Vejiita would not forgive him for this for a long while.  He dipped his chin in reverence, to assuage him.  “Suukah.  I honor you, My Prince.”

Raditsu knew he would see it as a gross debilitation on his ego and pride, and he would not forget it. But none of that mattered now, not really.  He swallowed before continuing.

"There are so few Saiya-jin left now that the death of their Prince would bring lost hope and faded patriotism. Are you so willing to die that you would abandon your own people? You say Vejiita-sei is your planet, and rightly so."  He bowed his head again for a brief moment. Vejiita’s eyes had not softened when he lifted his eyes.

“Then protect what little of her people are left. Allow me and the Kassha’hal Brolli to incinerate Yuki-sei and lead an attack on Furiza and the Aisu-jin that will leave them crippled and screaming for mercy in our path.  _Then,_ Zarshi-kalan.  Then you may have his head!"

Again, utter silence. Raditsu prayed to whatever gods would listen that Vejiita would see reason and relent. But it had never been in his nature to do so, and it would take a miracle now. Nappa had been the Prince’s teacher and friend, perhaps even closer to Vejiita than his own father had been when the Prince had been a boy. He would not forget Nappa’s face in that transmission.

The King was shifting in his position behind Raditsu, and the captain could tell he was making the same request of the gods. Finally, Vejiita hissed through his teeth—it was a short, disgusted sound. He crossed his arms tightly against the unarmored spandex of his battle suit, and leaned forward so that Raditsu could smell the anger emanating from his body.

"Bring Furiza to me alive, Aash’an." He said.  And Raditsu was momentarily relieved. "But if you allow the Kassha’hal Brolli to incinerate Yuki-sei, I’ll kill you myself. I want to watch that ice-cold shit hole burn underneath _my_ fingertips. THEN, Aash’an, I will have Furiza’s head.

The Prince’s eyes settled on Brolli, and Raditsu saw the way the two men glared at each other like shyre cats from the western lowlands of Vejiita-sei, ready to strike. He waited for a moment, let the silence sink in, and said,

"I will do as you ask, Zarshi-kalan.  Suukah." He bowed diligently, and could feel the self-satisfaction radiating off of the Prince like sunlight. When Raditsu stood, he saw that Vejiita was turning on his heel to leave, but not before he had shot Brolli another look that could have killed a man where he stood. When the door slammed shut, Raditsu turned back to the King.

"Forgive me, Sire. I saw no other alternative for him." He hoped the King would see it as well. The monarch’s eyes left his, and he shook his head, sitting back down in his chair slowly.

"Vejiita will do as he will, Aash’an. He will find a way to supersede my ruling. He respects no one but himself.  It is my fault for instilling such a strong sense of pride in him."  The King turned to Brolli. "Forgive him, Kassha’hal. This bad blood between the two of you must be resolved.  We need all the cooperation we can muster."

Brolli said nothing, and Raditsu sensed reluctance even in the Chosen One. He wished to strangle him at that moment. After a brief second, Brolli bowed at the waist.

"Of course, My King.  I will do as you say."

When he rose again, the King had turned with tired eyes to Bulma. Raditsu gazed upon her warily, old memories wrecking havoc on his mind and his body. Her proposal earlier in the hall had not been forgotten. He was amazed after all this time that she would continue to torture him as she had in the past. Had she not seen enough of his humiliation? With great pain, he realized that if she had spent even one more moment in his company than she had this afternoon, he would have gladly taken her up on her offer.  His threats to rape her had been regretfully hollow, though he hadn’t been sure if she’d seen it. Gods, he wished he _had_ the strength to degrade her like that…the bitch. The King’s words interrupted his thought.

"Lady Bulma, I regret that we shall need even your assistance. Normally, I would not turn to anyone outside of our race.  But your knowledge of tech could be very useful to us, without a doubt. Will you and your Mizuka-jin brethren help us? For the good of the Empire, _Shal’ba Bulma?_ "

With horror, Raditsu saw a smirking delight pass through her eyes. But, he realized, there was confusion nestled in its depths, making it hard to tell whether or not she would speak the truth as she opened her deliciously venomous mouth. Bulma smiled, attempting it seemed to make it genuine.

"I will provide the fallen Vejiita-sei with all she needs, My King.   _Suukah_." And she bowed. Raditsu bit his bottom lip, and his eyes came to Brolli.

The other man was frowning as well, looking upon his friend with knowing animosity towards the female before them. But Raditsu was afraid; how far would Brolli go for her? Two years ago, Raditsu would have set the universe aflame for her, until that dreadful night when he’d declared his love and been laughed at like a child.  What would Brolli do to keep his Blue Goddess away from the Prince, and keep her his forever? He wondered how much of Brolli’s mind was taken by her at this moment, and he wondered how much of it was rational.

Raditsu saw the King touching her shoulders, and she stood up. Her back was straight as a needle, pressing the firm, yet tender surface of her full breasts out like a proud feline. He found himself fighting the desire to lick at them and to wring her tiny neck at the same time. Cursing silently, he shook his head until the King spoke once more.

“I am pleased, Lady. Will you leave us now? I have important matters to discuss with the Kassha’hal, and Aash’an Raditsu. If you would…console my son?  He is fond of you, I know, though you would not see it.  Perhaps your voice would be just the thing he needs.”

Raditsu saw the muscles in Brolli’s arms tense as Bulma smiled radiantly. He thought that perhaps the King had no inkling of the way in which he’d just bruised the Kassha’hal’s throbbing heart. In typical form, though, Bulma bowed again.

"I shall certainly try, Zarshon-kalan."

And then her body was passing by his, the fruited scent of her skin, and the undeniably female odor of her assaulting his senses like a great ship colliding in his mind. As she passed, her eyes came upon him. He could not bear the look of slight triumph in them, and turned his own face away, hoping that it meant nothing but her smug, silent victory over Vejiita-sei. Just for Chikyuu…

When the door shut behind her, Raditsu breathed a silent sigh of relief. And then the thought of the torn bits of Vejiita-sei invaded his mind again.

 

#

 

Vejiita’s fingers were nearly tearing the stone off of the railing, piece by piece.  He watched as his knuckles turned white and the blood pounded in the veins beneath his fiery skin. Anger was the only thing he knew, and fury his only company. For a moment, he pondered splitting open the pillar that sat to his right. It was simply all too much…  Too much to take in and too much to understand. Vejiita-sei, gone? And Furiza, that bastard! Prickly little ribbons of flesh-eating wrath sat within Vejiita’s stomach and ate away at the lining.  He thought for sure that he’d vomit here and now. And the acidic fluid would probably eat away at the marbled floor beneath him…

The Prince lifted his fingers from the balcony railing and paced before it. How could his father have completely overlooked his responsibility to the situation? Instead he’d recruited that cocksure ass-kisser Brolli.  Gods…  It nearly made his head split with raging jealousy. _He_ should be the one leading the raid on Yuki-sei, and _he_ should be the one to blow the fucking thing to smithereens. The idea that those slithering bastards had even the _gall_ to suggest that a mere asteroid had destroyed such a great and monumental planet as Vejiita-sei--!  The thought of it made his head spin still. The Empire had been prolific for centuries and now a mere band of rebellious ice-monsters had blown it up in the blink of an eye?

Finally, when he could take the silence no longer, Vejiita strode down the main hallway towards his chambers, fully intent on destroying perhaps some native animal life…  His stride increased as he stomped down the halls. And, _gods_ , he couldn’t wait to get this battle suit off. The sweat he’d been accumulating since Nappa’s transmission was getting too much to bear under its high, skin-tight collar. It felt like there was a great insect scratching away at his flesh. Growling irritably, he reached the chamber door and kicked it open without using the panel.  It blinked a warning at him, and the doors fluttered on their hinges.  A few pieces of splintered fiber hit the ground, and as he slammed the door behind him, he incinerated one to smoking ribbons with a single blast from his finger.

After unzipping the back of his battle suit, he folded it down to waist level and unlocked the stabilizer on his belt. It held a few of his personal belongings and had gotten him used to this wretched gravity, but it felt more like a burden now. Finally, he pressed a few choice buttons on his transmitter and waited.

"Zarshi-kalan? Suukah."  The voice of one of his personal guards floated through the transmitter as the screen flickered to life.

"Sergeant Kale! I want you to do something for me." Vejiita lowered his voice, glancing around quickly. The other soldier nodded in the small vid screen.

"Of course, My Prince…"

Vejiita let his lips curl for a brief second.

"Once we’ve set a course for Yuki-sei, I want constant surveillance on the Kassha’hal Brolli," he let the name sneer off of his lips with disdain, "I want to make sure he’s not allowed to take control.  It can’t be allowed, Kale, do you understand me?"

"Kashidulok.  Without hesitation, Sire.  But, the Aash’an Raditsu, what of him?"

Vejiita paused and came into thought. Yes, Raditsu posed a bit of a problem if he was to keep a close eye on Brolli. Regretfully so…  Raditsu was one of the few men he trusted.

"He is in command," Vejiita said slowly, "let him do as he pleases. If he breaks his word to me, I’ll kill him myself."

The Sergeant nodded on the vid screen and agreed. Vejiita shut the tiny apparatus and sighed, tossing it on the plush, oh, so welcoming mattress of his bed. But no, not yet. The time to retire would come soon enough, but he had much on his mind. He sighed once more and went over to the closet containing his personal effects and searched for a more appropriate outfit. He was going to go see that blue-haired Chikyuu-jin and he was going to absolutely fuck her brains out—enough to get out of her what he needed. She knew more than he was sure Brolli, Raditsu, or even his father was aware of, and he intended to discover it.

"There’s no need to change, Prince Vejiita," a smooth, feminine voice startled him from behind. Ah, just the wench he was thinking of!  "What you’re donning at this moment is quite appropriate, I assure you."

Vejiita whirled around and searched the room. _All the gods! How could I have missed her ki signature?! Distracted…yes that’s it._ He squinted in irritated confusion and clenched his fists.

"Show yourself, woman! I am in no mood to play games."

From the shadows of a dark corner near his balcony, movement caught his eye. The woman was clad in a blood red cloak that was currently hooding most of her features, and as she stepped from the shade of the curtains her silhouette became clearer. The woman pushed back her hood, her face a clear sheet of sympathy. Though he was sure most of it was as fraudulent as Furiza’s smile, she tilted her chin up a bit and raised her eyebrows ruefully.

"You must be quite distracted and…distraught." Her voice purred, appealing to him in a way few females were able to. But Vejiita would not allow himself to be coddled quite so easily. He allowed his upper lip to curl.

"Your sympathy is quite stunningly sincere," he said, approaching her slowly, "unfortunately, I don’t need it. Nor do I think you’d like to give it." He paused again and stopped by her side. The rush of air that accompanied him blew the graceful sweep of her hair across her swan-like neck. She watched him with wary, yet determined eyes. Vejiita couldn’t help but smile as he lifted a hand to her ear and brushed a lock of her hair away. "You don’t feel sorry for me."  He murmured. His fingers flickered slowly down until they reached the clasp of her cloak.  "Stay awhile?" Vejiita flicked open the clasp and watched her face as it slid off of her bare shoulders to reveal the shimmering, nearly sheer violet gown she wore. It complemented her complexion nicely, he thought.

When he’d turned to finish ridding himself of the battle suit, her voice followed him.

"I offered no sympathy, Zarshi-kalan.”  She said.  “It is fruitless to offer it since your people don’t seem to understand such a thing."

Vejiita had to chuckle at that, and felt her following him very slowly.

"Whatever makes you come to that conclusion, Lady Bulma?" He slid the thick material of his gloves from his fingers and tossed them towards his closet. The woman’s voice laughed quietly behind him. Her ki aura was suddenly very close and he waited, anticipatory sweat beading on his forehead. Her fingers came next, slicing him down the middle of his back with a touch so gentle that it demanded control.

"Enough with the formalities, Zarshi-kalan."  She was breathing against his skin, brushing it with her lips.  "You have something I want.  You took it from me and I want it back."

Vejiita allowed himself a shudder, but made sure it was undetectable. He then raised an eyebrow in undeniable amusement.

"Something you want? How fortuitous, My Lady, I seem to remember that you also have something I want."  He turned to face her, and for once reveled in his height, for his mouth was quite close to hers.   He was but a few inches taller, and it made her slight body all the more accessible to him.  She was breathing heavily, but he sensed that some of that quickened intake was not just from desire, but also from fear. He leaned forward, and let the outline of his bottom lip trace the tip of her nose. "An exchange then?"

She was laughing quietly, and the scent of her fruited lips enticed him beyond reason.

"An exchange? What could I possibly have that you need, _Vejiita-Zarshi_?"

Vejiita found that her taunting was nearly as arousing as her very appearance. He breathed deeply and nipped at her upper lip.

"How quickly you’ve forgotten." He paused, leaning his head to the side. She was weakening already, he noticed, when he saw her eyes shut. "You know what I want from you, _larushinta_.  What use would you have for that insignificant piece of tech I stole from you, when I could give you--anything you want. You know that, don’t you?"

Her retort was smart and quick, but lingering and breathless.

"Your planet is gone!" She snapped, leaning into the tender caresses he had begun to trace on her belly.  "And your Empire will soon be at war with a formidable foe! What use are your promises now?!"

Vejiita made it a point to make his voice sound as genuine as possible, though it was becoming more difficult to control himself with each passing second. Frustration boiled in his veins as hot as fresh-flowing blood.

"I think," he said slowly, his tongue darting out to flick against her ear, "a woman like you has no use for lands, titles and money. I know one thing that you really want."

Bulma was sighing against him, and her hands were reaching up to grip his shoulders. Vejiita reached behind her to press a palm flat against the small of her back. The memory of her sweet little gasps and moans when he’d cornered her earlier that day echoed in his brain. Finally, she spoke.

"Do you?" she asked; her voice was a whisper now. Vejiita retained the cackle that lay dormant in his throat at the moment, and smirked against her soft, perfumed skin.

"Of course."  His hands were becoming both frantic and unguarded. He cursed himself silently for it, but couldn’t help grabbing and groping at her breasts like a bloody virgin.  "I know what Brolli can’t give you;" he growled into her neck, "a challenge.  I can give you that, Lady Bulma." He paused, and suddenly his instinct seemed to take over. The animal inside of him set his tail ruffling. "I can give you more than you can take."

It was the wrong thing to say, but Vejiita braced himself for the onslaught about to overtake him. Both of her arms came up to push away from him. To prevent her escape, Vejiita locked his arm around her waist and clenched it painfully about her fragile midsection. To his surprise, she growled.

"You give yourself more credit than you deserve," Bulma fumed, "if your _kassha’hal_ , your chosen one and the strongest of your kind cannot live up to my expectations—what in all the gods’ names makes you think _you_ can?!"

Vejiita was through playing the games now, and he found himself quickly losing control. Mating with the creature was all he really cared to do at this current time, and piss on her willingness to do so. It’d be better if she were biting and kicking and screaming anyway. At least she’d let loose some of that beast inside of her—she’d thrash about like a Saiya-jin female in heat. That thought pleased him, and he reached behind her head to grip a large quantity of her flowing blue hair. The woman let out a positively delightful little squeal that sent his mouth straight to her lips.

And she did fight, oh yes she fought admirably, he thought. She pushed and protested under his violent kiss, flailing her legs against his waist when he turned to shove her up against the wall. That violet, soft dress had to go, Vejiita thought, and so he gripped both sides of its neckline and ripped it down the center like a sheet of paper. Bulma screeched again into his mouth and clamped her teeth down upon his bottom lip. Perhaps it was meant to deter his roving mouth, but it only made the blood sing more loudly in his ears and fuel his rather unceremonious assault. He smiled against her brave attempt and gripped the sides of her head to still its movement. Vejiita wondered if she weren’t doing it all on purpose. She’d been with Saiya-jin men enough to know what they liked. Ah, but that was the best part.

Her mid-section was bared to him now; all that remained of that icing-like dress torn to ribbons until it reached her lovely waist. Vejiita let go of her head and slid both hands into the torn dress. Her milky soft skin was supple and inviting under his fingertips, and for a moment he blanked out on his true purpose: total and complete domination of her wild spirit. He knew it would take much more than one coupling, but he found himself not objecting to this aspect. For her garment-laced breasts were as exquisite as the rest of her, though he much preferred for them to be completely bare. Vejiita decided he liked the frilly thing, and he stroked it ever so lightly with his fingers. The woman’s movements were slowing now, and he was only slightly disappointed that she’d given up the fight so easily. But her small hands were still pushing against his shoulders futilely. He decided he’d give her a new chance and pin her wrists to the wall with one hand.

The new restraint refueled her virulence, and she arched her back so that her hips were pressing against his and attempting freedom once more. Vejiita could not help but grin against her mouth at this, for the movement was throwing him off balance ever so slightly, making it difficult to continue his groping. Finally, he decided, it was time to test her. The scent of arousal was so heavy on her that he wondered how much longer he himself could hold out. The painful hardness between his legs was pushing him against her more heavily now, and despite his desire and playfulness he did not wish to hurt her. Vejiita cautiously broke his kiss, opening his eyes to see that her lips were swollen, and her eyes lidded with fury and passion. His hands now slid down to the small of her back, and he pressed her against the firebrand between his legs. Bulma whimpered when he ground himself into her.

"Giving up so easily, little tease?" He breathed against her mouth; "I had the impression you’d be fighting me all the way."

To his complete surprise, she growled once more and reached out to snatch a handful of his hair as he had done before to her lovely blue locks. Curiously, she locked her legs around his waist. Warm, dampness surrounded him until she said, tugging quite painfully on his hair,

"Why don’t we get down to particulars, _Zarshi-kalan_?" This time she tugged so hard that his neck actually bent backwards. His grip tightened reflexively on her waist. Her mouth was probing around his chin now, and she bit at it.  "Instead of pretending like you want to make me a happy girl, why don’t you just fuck me and leave it at that?" Her word left his eyes wide and somewhat confused. Vejiita gulped when she spoke again, "Because you see, Vejiita-Zarshi..." her voice was softening and reaching a level of pouty, pitiful whine that made his erection throb.  "It hurts me ever so much to be this hot for you. I wanted you the first time I saw you, you know?

She was rubbing her wet heat against him again, and he felt himself loosing the grip he had on the cliff of control. Bulma was reaching down with her other hand to slide the rest of his battlesuit from his hips. Vejiita groaned so low in his throat that it came out like a snarl.  His cock was free now, and her mouth was licking a slow trail down his throat.

"Let go of my hair, _woman_ ," he barked, " _let it go_." For a reason unbeknownst to him, her fingers loosed, and his neck and head were able to move once more. More quickly than he knew she could follow, he pushed away from the wall and reached behind himself to unlock her legs from his waist. With a yelp, her body was flung before him on the bed before she could react. Vejiita reached out to take her throat enough so that she could not cry out, but so that she could still breathe.  "I could if I wanted to, you know..." he hissed into her face, " _gods_ , I could fuck you until you bleed all over the pretty carpet!"

"Then why don’t you?!" She choked out the words, and Vejiita swore she was smiling underneath his grip. He would have smirked if she didn’t look so devilishly sure of herself. Instead, he allowed his thumb to trace her chin, her bottom lip.

"Because I don’t believe that’s what you really want, _Lady Bulma_ ," he whispered, watching as she shut her eyes against his voice. His black eyes roved her for a bit longer... _gods,_ and he did want to mate with the creature until she begged him to stop or passed out from the exertion.  Instead he kissed her mouth delicately and released her neck only a bit. "I think you want a man to love every inch of you until you can’t bloody stand it anymore. You want someone to _make love_ to you, don’t you?" He leaned even closer and touched her mouth with both hands. " _Don’t you?_ "

With a shriek, she pushed him away fully from her trembling form. He stood, watching her frail body shake with fury and fear until she quickly slid from the bed and snatched the discarded red cloak from the floor.

"All the gods damn you!" She screamed as she tied the knot around her neck. " _Fuck_ you! I hope your murderous race gets incinerated by the Aisu-jin!! I hope every last one of you gets raped or beaten or stripped of your own skin or—or—!"  She was sobbing aloud now, sending spasms of confusion through his body. "I don’t care!!" Her voice was shrill with anger. "I only wish I could have been there to see those Saiya-jin _brats_ screaming for their lives just like the children of Chikyuu!!"

With that, she fled for the door and slammed her palm against the open panel. It shuddered open and, with one last deathly glare, she stormed from his chamber. Vejiita stood in silence, her words a painful echo in his mind. Irritation with her insolence began to overshadow his guilt, and he bit down upon his cheek.  Now, and especially in this time of extreme need for an ally, he vowed to enslave the little thing’s soul.

Vejiita shook his head and placed both palms over his ears when the echo of her voice did not stop.

_Those Saiya-jin BRATS...  BRATS screaming just like the children of Chikyuu!!_

 


	10. Chapter Nine - Ka'hakazah

**_Ka’hakazah_ **

**“Hatred”**

 

 

Bulma was running, and she did not care where. She clutched the shredded remains of her dress close to her shivering body and prayed to any god who would listen that no one would see her--least of all Brolli.   _Kami-gami--!_ If he saw her like this he’d laugh in her face before he made her admit that he’d been right all along.  Bulma squeezed out a few spare tears that crept their way out of her eyes. It would not do to be seen crying either. She needed to make it to her chambers and prepare.  After tonight’s fiasco, there was no doubt left in her mind as to the direction she needed to turn next.

Vejiita-sei was gone. Though the news had not brought any great sadness to her heart, Bulma was hard-pressed to believe that such a thing had actually come to pass. It was simply too difficult to believe; Vejiita-sei dwarfed most other planets by hundreds of thousands of miles in circumference and by billions in population. Its perimeter was guarded constantly by surveillance and guard pods. And what those bloody monkeys lacked in tech-base they certainly made up for in brute strength and ki manipulation. Furiza was either a closet, certified genius or had gone completely insane. Bulma guessed that the Aisu-jin ruler had more up his sleeve than just those options, however.

 _Gods_ , she was still furious. Even as she thought of him, the Monkey Prince made her desire to rip a small animal in half greater by the second. How dare he?!  It had been the first time in a very long while that one of those beasts had even come close to opening her heart and looking inside. And she certainly would not allow that to happen, not ever!  It was not something she could afford. Especially now…

When Bulma reached the doors to her chamber, she punched in the lock code and slid inside.  Brolli was nowhere to be found, thank the gods.  Bulma heaved until her breath began to calm, and she turned to face her mattress of feathers and down.  She sighed in childlike relief and dropped her crimson cloak to the ground.

And her dress was ruined, curse that beast! Bulma fingered the frayed edges of it and felt damnable tears well in the confines of her eyes.   _Damn him…damn him, damn him!!_ It was more than fabric that had been torn, she thought.

The wall was welcoming as she leaned against it, exhausted and aggravated to the point of devastating sleep. But even if she had tried now, she knew sleep would never come. His voice would come back to her, as it was now in the most horrifying tone she’d ever heard.   _I think you want a man to make love to every inch of you until you can’t bloody stand it anymore…!_  Bulma growled and slid to a crouching position near the wall. It didn’t matter if his words were true or not, she’d surmised. That was not possible, none of it was possible!  And so it would not do to dwell on such things.

The ignorance of his comments made pain well in her chest until she thought that perhaps someone may be stabbing her.  Bulma bent her neck and sobbed once. The harsh noise was infuriating to her. It sounded as though someone had beaten her. The racking sobs came spewing forth finally, and coarsely, as vomit does. Her fists were clenched into tight little balls of fury and desperation. Because, she realized, no matter how hard she wished for it--no matter how much she wanted those things the Monkey Prince had spoken of, it made no difference at all. She would never have them.

And so, Bulma thought as she rose to her feet and sniffled, this was the way she had made for herself. In order to travel down this path, she must use the tools at her disposal. Her heart did not matter, she knew. Gods, it had been so long since she’d cried over such things that the feeling felt foreign.  It felt unnatural and wrong. Bulma swiped a hand across her soaking wet face and snarled as she made her way across the chamber.

Her communicator had been placed daintily by her bedside when she’d changed earlier on her way to see the Prince. All the gods, he’d pay for this. All of them would pay. She’d do as she had done for the past two years--play both sides of the table. Only this time, her revenge would be palatable.   _Kami!_  She could almost taste it now.

Hurriedly, Bulma snatched up the communicator and touched the buttons needed to receive Iriyon. His voice was tired and confused, she thought.  But then, it was the middle of the night and no one had yet been notified of the evening’s events.

“Iriyon!” She hissed into the com unit. “It’s Bulma!”

He seemed to spring into recognition at the sound of his own language as she whispered it.  His voice was more urgent when he spoke again.

“Shaji Bulma, what is it?!”

“Urgent news, darling,” she continued in Mizukago, “you must contact His Majesty Emperor Furiza. Tell him I need to speak with him as soon as possible!”

“Shaji--?  Lady Bulma?” He seemed puzzled by her request.

“Do it, Iriyon.  The time for talk has long since passed.”

“Of--of course, Shaji Bulma!”

She clicked off the com unit and tossed it onto her bed. With haste, Bulma crossed the room and threw open her wardrobe. Leafing through various ornate gowns and headdresses, she finally found what she’d been looking for. Bulma cursed when the outfit hooked onto the buttons of another, and she tore it from the closet. Quickly, she peeled the remains of her gown from her still shaking body and tossed it carelessly over the floor. She hoped Brolli would come and find it like that…  Maybe the poor little monkey would be worried for her and go on a killing spree.  Or maybe the Monkey Prince would find it there and assume the worst; that Bulma had gone mad with her grief over him and jumped out her balcony window. Gods, there were days when that seemed like the best option.

Yet now, in this late and unholy hour of the night, Bulma could not even concede to the idea. She knew what she had to do as she slid the loose, silk pants over her legs. Their blood red material seemed fitting for the occasion, Bulma mused.  She buttoned the shirt, caressing the fine embroidery that adorned the breast of it. The sight of it was like a million pieces of memory--a million, fine white lines of familiarity. The kanji danced in her eyes like real beauty. She had not seen this for some time.

Bulma traced the Japanese kanji with her finger.  _Hitotsu kaku--_ one stroke…  _Futatsu kaku--_ two strokes…  _Chikara._ The symbol of strength would have to be her guiding light now, for nothing else could be. No _one_ else could be. _Okaachan, gomen ne…_

_Mama, forgive me, won’t you? These are things I never meant for you to see._

#

 

“So you see, Your Majesty, I have no other options. The Saiya-jin political monsters have swallowed me whole as it were, and I am too close to them now to attempt real betrayal. I will have to work from the inside out until you have secured your position within Mizukashi and made your move.”

Bulma pressed one thumb against the other and waited. The air on Furiza’s ship was cold; colder than most winters on Hokkaido and colder than the most vicious snowstorm at Vejiita-sei’s pole. And the air was wet:  humid almost but a cool, eerie and altogether clammy kind of humid. About as sultry as a serpent’s tongue. Furiza was watching her from his throne. A throne carved completely from icy deposits of tungsten. A great, white vein of frozen mercury gleamed down the center of it, curling around until it reached the legs of the throne and appeared as a spear in dawn shadow.  The great wealth of Yuki-sei lay it its precious minerals and elements, mined and sold to the highest bidder.  But in the years since its invasion, well, the highest bidder was the Saiya-jin king.  And Furiza had been forced into a sovereign status, his title a mere symbol of his former power.

The tapered end of the Aisu-jin’s pale white tail flicked. The Emperor narrowed his gleaming eyes for a moment and studied her expression. Bulma forced herself to remain unaffected, though it seemed as if those beady little black eyes were piercing her soul.

“I see,” he said finally, the smooth and elegant tones of his voice speaking Mizukago with little accent. She could hear the roll of his tongue though, the slight but blunt guttural edge to each syllable. Bulma did not speak Aisugo, but had determined on her way to his celestial throne room that she would learn how.

It could not be any more difficult than Saiyago, she thought. Or Mizukago for that matter. Both did not use her native alphabet, nor did they bear any resemblance to Japanese. She thought that perhaps Aisugo would be much the same way, for she could see the symbols all over the ship already. It would be difficult, but not impossible…

“You must understand, Lady Bulma,” Furiza spoke again, “I’m not sure I can afford a fence sitter at this time. How can I be sure that you will uhhh--?”  He paused, grinned evilly at her and looked as though he was searching for the right word. “How can I be sure of your loyalty?”

Bulma inhaled deeply, and tried desperately to appear unaffected by his cold stare and colder countenance

“You can’t,” she said then, plainly and flatly, so he knew that she did not lie. The icy creature before her raised an eyebrow.  “There are no guarantees in a situation like this, I’m afraid. But I can tell you that my word is final. I will aid you. I have no reason to help the Saiya-jin.”

Furiza’s mouth twitched indecisively, though he looked a bit amused.

“I suppose,” he paused and picked up a glass of liquid, “you’re right, Lady Bulma.” She observed carefully as Furiza lifted a finger to one of his subordinates and pointed towards the soldier by his main computer. The other lizard-like creature approached her slowly and lifted his hand. A small chip sat in the center of his smooth, colorless skin.

Bulma hesitated, but Furiza was quick to respond.

“It’s a communicator, Lady Bulma,” he assured her, “our scientists have developed a very new kind of technology to make less--?”  He cleared his throat, and spit some words in Aisugo to the soldier at his right.  “ _Kallak_ …  Shall we say, ‘conspicuous’ forms of communication possible. Consider this my gift to you. _Our_ gift of acceptance. I expect the best though, _Chikyuu-jin_. And I will not tolerate failure.”

“I should get used to it if I were you, Majesty,” Bulma said viciously.  “Though I can promise you my best, the Saiya-jin are not to be underestimated. You may have taken them by surprise, but there are more of them on neighboring sovereign worlds. They will not be without support.”

The soldier next to her held the chip closer to her face and muttered something that she did not understand.  The disgust was plain in his tone, though. This infuriated her, but only until she promised herself that it would not be long before she could understand every damn word the lizard had just uttered.

“Take the chip, Lady Bulma,” Furiza assured her, “if you remember my words, then perhaps I shall remember yours.”

Bulma paused, then nodded once and reached out towards the soldier’s hand.  For a moment it seemed as though he would smile at her.  But instead, he shook the end of his thick tail and bowed to Furiza.  The Emperor dismissed him.  Bulma examined the chip. Its design was flawless, she observed. It was nearly the size of a microchip and yet it was smooth, with rounded edges and a stylish outer shell. Such things could not be found in this galaxy, she thought. She wondered how the Aisu-jin had come across such advanced technology, and how in Kami’s name they had harnessed it.

Furiza was standing, handing his glass of reddish liquid to a nearby attendant. He watched her for another moment, as though he were sizing her up for the kill. _Go on and look, lizard-king. I have plans for you, too. All of you intergalactic, genocidal maniacs will get what you deserve…  Just watch and see._

The corridor outside Furiza’s throne room was just as cold, if not more so than the rest of the ship. She was greeted by Iriyon and a few other of her Mizuka-jin comrades as she entered the main docking area. Iriyon looked apprehensive.

“You were treated well, _Shaji?_ ” He asked in his native tongue. She was quite sure that no one else on this ship would understand them except Furiza.

“Of course, Iriyon,” she replied slowly, and softly just in case, “the Aisu-jin, while not known for their very tremendous strength, have earned a reputation for being quite lovely hosts.”  She looked up at him for a moment, into his fish-like, dark eyes. His face, so different from her own, still looked rather unsure. She touched his arm. “Stop worrying, Iriyon. We will see what we deserve to see--what we have waited too long to see.”

“I hope you are right, Shaji.”  He replied, the heavy lids of his eyes blinking once. She noted that he was looking at his vid screen. “We will have to hurry. I have heard the Aisu-jin talking, Shaji. They intend on de-cloaking once we’ve returned to the dock on Mizukashi. The Saiya-jin will see them. And Vejiita-Zarshon will not wait long before he launches the first attack.”

Bulma huffed.

“True, it does not take much to provoke those war-mongers into battle mode--!”  She stopped and looked up at Iriyon once more. He was looking all around them. She shifted the tails of her tunic and said, “Iriyon…do you understand them?”

The amphipod looked down at her, and his gilled nostrils flared.

“Of course, Shaji,” he said. “I studied several foreign tongues in technical institutions. It is imperative, you know. Why, you can understand, Shaji Bulma. You yourself can speak three.”

She laughed softly.

“Yes, but one is my own.”  She paused and gripped his sleeve a bit. “Iriyon, will you teach me Aisugo?”

He watched her curiously and then quirked his large mouth.

“Of course, Shaji.  It is much easier than Saiyago, you know. There are only six intonations and two fourteen-character syllabaries. It can be learned within a week. But the problem is pronunciation, Shaji. It may be difficult for you. Their vocal chords are quite different from yours, or even ours.”

Bulma nodded, confident now.

“Very well, we can begin later.” The taller alien nodded, his wide eyes pleased at least for the moment.

The short ride back to Mizukashi’s docking area was filled with apprehension. Bulma blinked as she watched the capsule touch down in dock # 13. Now, the games would begin, she thought. Now, she would have to travel a most perilous path. But she was ready.  She would have to be.

 

#

 

The torn fabric was sliding like water through his fingers, catching on a few of the heavy rings that hung in between his powerful digits. It was a cool violet, woven with the utmost of care on a planet far from here with fabric that was not native to this world. And here it was, lying in a heap on the floor, torn to ribbons. The Kassha’hal fingered the material for a bit longer before letting it fall to the plush, royal blue carpet beneath his boots. Its sparkling remains sat there now, staring up at him in lifeless solemnity.

Why in all the gods’ names did it matter now? Now, after all he had accomplished and all he had attained, the one thing he wanted more than anything else in this gods-forsaken universe was slipping through his hands just like the watery fabric. And gods, it was a _bitch_ to admit it. In fact, every bloody time he thought of it the very idea made his stomach burn with fury.

She had been right.  The entire time she’d been right! And now, here he was, the _Kassha’hal,_ the Chosen One, Brolli, sitting on the bed and wondering how to retrieve the affections of a woman. A fucking _Chikyuu-jin_ female, no less! Perhaps that was the aspect of it that stung most of all.  Or maybe it was the scent wafting from the torn dress like the air of burning flesh.

Brolli’s nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air again. Bulma’s torn dress stunk of Vejiita-Zarshi and not only of his scent, but the musky odor of arousal.  He could not tell from the scent now whether or not they had mated. And now, with the imminence of war hanging on everyone’s conscience like a dead weight, the realization of her infidelity was even more devastating.

Gods, and he couldn’t believe now referred to her liaison as infidelity! She had spoken the truth after all, she did not belong to him.  Nor did he belong to her. In fact, it would be to his benefit if he found a willing female and boned her brains out until the sun rose. But even that prospect did not seem half so appealing as it should.  Frankly, the idea made him half ill.  No, the sad truth of it was that he wanted to find her. Even now, when the world was falling down around him, and the Aisu-jin were breathing down their necks…  Even now he wanted her.

The air came to life around him as the signature of her jal’a caught his attention. Brolli stood from the plush cushions he’d been seated on and stepped over the heap of violet gown. Weak as her physical energy was, he could feel the subtle nuances of it whenever she was near. Brolli’s mind flew for a few seconds as he pondered his next move. Did he wait here for her? Or would he hide until she came looking for him? _Would_ she come looking for him? _Gods_ , did any question really matter anymore? Brolli wondered if any outcome would be suitable. And so, for lack of a better plan, he snatched the torn dress from the floor and leaned against the wall next to the doorframe.

The door slid open, and she came in with the rush of air. Her body was clad in a shiny and blood red material, her cerulean hair gathered on her head in a tousle. She looked rather different, he thought. Not the usual provocative air about her…

Bulma had not seen him yet, and she yawned, stretching like a feline. A communicator was clutched in her fist, and she pressed the call button.

“Iriyon,” she was speaking into it as it greeted her, “meet with me tomorrow morning and we’ll talk more about capsulation of the items. I suppose we should get moving, before the monkeys get restless…!”

Brolli’s shoulders tensed, not only from her use of such a derogatory reference but also her use of the Mizuka-jin language. He had seen her half-hearted acceptance of the King’s request for aid. But hearing it out rightly was quite another thing. It made him less hopeful than he had been before she’d arrived.

When Bulma flicked off the communicator, she sat with her back to him on the bed of cushions. She reached up to slide a wooden stick from her hair and let the waterfall of blue tumble down her graceful shoulders. She was thinking, and Brolli realized that he would die to know just about what. There had been talk, he’d noticed of late, and question of Bulma’s real loyalty to the Empire.  He knew she despised every single one of them, but when he’d offered her citizenship she had taken oath for her own good more than anything else.  More for her protection--her guaranteed freedom.  He had hoped, years ago, that giving Bulma her freedom would have opened her heart to him.  But that had not been possible, Brolli knew that now, just as Raditsu had discovered.  He was a pawn to her, just as every other Saiya-jin. But now was the time to make her a pawn. The real challenge was to do so while catching her unaware.

Slowly, his senses noted a shift in the atmosphere. Bulma sniffled in the quiet atmosphere and swiped a few fingers across her delicate face. She was crying.  It was a shame that Bulma did not allow herself the luxury very often, he thought. For he often saw the look of desperation and sad reminiscence in her eyes. But, more often than not, it was gone before one could really catch a true glimpse of it. He almost felt sorry for her in that moment…almost. For he remembered that their last encounter had not been a particularly pleasant one.

Bulma was looking up now, studying the floor before her with sudden and real intensity. Brolli wanted to smirk. She noticed that the dress was gone. What a keen little observant thing she was, really! The blue-haired vixen swiveled around on the bed and looked right at him. Her eyes were piercing with what looked like annoyance and fear all at once.

She stood from the cushions and straightened her back, neck proud and extended like a snake ready to strike. The rims of her bright blue eyes were a pinkish red. Brolli thought that she had never looked so truly beautiful, for like this she was as real and true as she’d ever been. It was something he had never witnessed in her presence.

He fingered the soft dress in his hand again and smiled recklessly.

“I rather thought this was one of your favorites.”  He said and lifted his hand, displaying the torn garment. Bulma’s body shifted in place a bit. “Are you angry with me, _larushinta_?”

All traces of sadness or sympathy had gone from her face now, and her mouth was a firm set line of determination. She stepped away from the bed and headed towards her bath chamber.

“Leave me, Brolli,” she said, “I’ve no patience for your guilt trips this night.”

Anger forced his hand out until he was gripping her forearm tightly. She stopped walking. Perhaps she would be a bit more wise this time around.

“Where have you been, Lady Bulma _?_ ” He asked her. “You smell like Mizuka-jin.”

Bulma’s pretty little eyes narrowed, and she lifted her chin.

“I have been in the lab with Iriyon,” she said matter-of-factly, “finding ways to help you win this war.  Though exactly why I am _sure_ I don’t know.”

Brolli clicked his tongue and let the dress drop to the floor. Alright then, if it was a game she wanted to play, he would play along.

“For shame.  I thought you’d grown rather fond of us—or at least of me.”

The blue-haired beauty before him looked even more suspicious than before.

 “Whatever gave you that idea, _Kassha’hal_?”

Brolli contemplated his next move. He shrugged at her.

“I rather thought you enjoyed my company, since you’ve been joy-riding my generous heart _and_ my cock for the past two years.”

That earned him a lovely little slap on the face. It stung, but he wondered if she knew how little it really hurt compared to the burning sensation in his chest.

“I said leave me,” she snapped, “I’m in no mood to play this game of cat and mouse with you!”

“It is a game that you, nevertheless, began, _Shal’ba_ ,” Brolli told her, “you like to play games, don’t you? But you’ve never got quite enough gusto to finish them off. You thought you’d gotten it all under control this time, didn’t you?”

Brolli was aware that every word slipping from his lips could earn him another slap. But once again, he did not bother to check himself. What was the point, indeed, after so long?  Besides, the stinging sensation of her little hand made his cock jump.

“You thought I’d be as easy to push over as Raditsu, but since I’m not you’ve nearly given up.”

His words faded into the thick atmosphere of the room. Bulma was staring at him, wide-eyed with fury or fear, he could not tell which. Brolli began to realize that a thin film of glistening wetness had settled in the corners of her eyes. She shifted, and her whole body was facing him, parallel.

“I do not give up.”

Her mouth was steady and full of passion. Its full lines resonated with a kind of determination that he had never seen in any one creature, Saiya-jin or no.  For a moment, Brolli was stunned, and his lungs were void of any and all oxygen. But recover he must, or all was lost in this maze of emotion. Brolli squinted in the dim light of her chamber and lifted a hand to her cheek. He ran a finger down the satin like surface of her skin. Blue locks of watery hair caressed his digits.

“I know that, _shall’la…_ ”

Perhaps more loving terms would work better at this moment. He leaned into her and brushed his nose up against hers. She was unmoving; a brick wall that he must fight to bring down. Only then would her surrender be that much sweeter.

“But you’d like to…wouldn’t you?” Brolli whispered the words against her mouth.

“Don’t touch me.”  Her whisper deteriorated into quite a handsome and deadly sort of growl.  Brolli clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“ _Hokah oran,_ ” he scoffed, “such anger…  I only meant to comfort you.”

Bulma’s lip curled on her upper teeth.

“Your definition of ‘comfort’ is grossly skewed, Brolli _._ ”

She stepped away from him and moved gracefully through the chamber until her body disappeared beyond the bath chamber. The scent of her livid arousal hung pungent and thick in the air. Brolli inhaled deeply, half of a snarl creeping onto his lips. She would not get the better of him. He had done it before, and gods be damned, he would do it again. Brolli pushed himself away from the doorway and followed her into the bath chamber.

She was slipping the shiny tunic from her shoulders and letting steamy water flow into the tub before her. Perfect timing, he supposed. A halter made of the same material graced her feminine shoulders and back. Her bare skin was glowing with aura in the dimly lit bath chamber.  Golden; it was like a second skin of gold had been woven into her body. Keeping her last comment in mind, he stepped towards her. She knew he was close, he could smell her apprehension. It was a musky mix of something akin to frightened desire.

So, even now she still wanted him. But there was something holding her back.  Yes, something hard and thick like a wall of alabaster stone. Perhaps he could melt it with his fingertips, if he tried.

Bulma’s back stiffened when he drew the tip of his finger down the center of it. She stood straight and confident in the wake of his advance, and clenched her fists at her sides. Brolli stroked her back for a moment, with the slightest and tiniest tips of his fingers, until gooseflesh began to rise on her glowing skin. She was breathing, shallow and shaky. By the bloody gods, he _wanted_ her. His body had begun to stir moments ago with a kind of primitive desire that only she was capable of evoking in him.

Brolli slid both hands inside the shiny halter and around to the front of her midsection. She was inhaling deeply. Trying to control herself perhaps? Oh, he hoped so. Her breasts were soft and bare beneath the material. And, gods save her, they were already swollen and waiting for his touch. Bulma’s hands were moving now, and he wondered if she was going to try and stop him. Better to take initiative first, he thought. And so, he reached forward to pinch at her lovely nipples until her body tensed with the slightest bit of pain.

“I know, _shall’la_ …  You still smell like him, after all. Even underneath the fish-people, I can smell _Vejiita-Zarshi_ on your skin. Did he disappoint you, Lady _?_ ”

Bulma shifted in his arms and lifted her chin when his mouth descended to the dip in her shoulder.

“Hardly, _Shakan_ ,” she said breathlessly. “If you smell him then you must know that I mated with him. How does it make your ego feel?” Her identification of his self-worth did not faze him, but it was amusing, he thought. Not to mention her little fib…

“Did you?” Brolli murmured against her.

She shuddered, and was nearly successful at containing it. But not quite. Bulma was nodding. He slid his fingers lower until they were tucked inside the waistband of her equally shiny pants. Placing one palm flat upon her belly and one deeper between her legs, he pressed his lips against her ear.

“That’s funny, darling.”  He slid a finger inside her, and she was gasping. A few more thrusts would have done it, he thought. She was so very tight and aroused. The Prince must have left her desperately wanting.  He had to admit it was clever, in light of the Lady Bulma’s self-exalted power over men.

Instead, Brolli waited until her breath was coming in short pants and slid his hand back up and out from between her legs. He thought he caught the slightest of a growl coming from her throat, so he kissed it. To prove his point, Brolli drew his hand up towards her mouth.

Drawing a light trace around her upper lip, he said, “I don’t smell him inside you, Bulma. Perhaps you were mistaken.” He gripped her waist and spun her around so she was facing him. The wall was near to them, and so he pushed her against it with the entire length of his body so that she could feel the heat of his arousal and nothing else.

“Do you think it would matter to me if you did?” He whispered against her cheek. Bulma’s eyes were glistening with a kind of contempt. He wondered if it was directed at him. She lifted her chin and glared at him through half-lidded eyes.

“It should,” she said suddenly, lowering her chin until she was eye-level with him. “He asked me to be his mate, you know? Doesn’t it tickle you, Brolli?  You and Raditsu, you gave me this power.  Once I was your slave, but come next Shak’ala you’ll be kissing my feet and calling me ‘majesty’.”

Brolli tightened his fingers about her waist until she gasped in pain.

“You’re a fool…” he growled, deeply until he felt the ki in his chest begin to burn. “If you think Vejiita-Zarshi wants anything more from you than a good _fuck doll!_ ”

“Damn you--!” She cried, tearing into the skin on his shoulders with her fingernails. “All you bloody monkeys can do is hurt! Hurt, kill and destroy! You’re not capable of anything else, damn you! I hate you--!” Her voice was deteriorating into a sob, and tears were streaming down onto the now pale and sickly surface of her cheeks.

“Do you?” Brolli wanted to tear her in half…gods how good would it feel? If _only_ she could feel half of the searing heat that made his pain each time she blocked out his affections. “ _Good_.” He snarled. Blue tinted jal’a was rising from his feet, and there was nothing he could do to stop it now.

“Good! Hate me, Bulma.  Despise me until it hurts! You think pain is all we’re capable of because you’ve never stopped to try and believe anything else!  You approach like a cat with its claws out and you get scratched back. But maybe if you tried understanding us--knowing us--the pain would go away. I’ve spent two years trying to understand you. I’m no farther along than when I started--!” With a shove, he pushed away from her, aware suddenly that he’d never spoken such words to anyone in his life.

Brolli’s heart pounded, and he watched as more energy exploded from his feet like the reversal of a waterfall. Purple-black spikes of his thick hair were waving about his face and preparing for transformation. Trying desperately to control his power level, Brolli clenched his fists until it hurt. The tendons stretched and snapped, overextending until he thought every bone in his body would break. Bulma was staring at him, cheeks swollen and glistening with tears. For a moment, she did not blink. Her chest heaved powerfully. It was then, unbearably, the only sound in the room save the swirling energy of his energy.

Bulma blinked, licking her upper lip daintily as though it would fall off. Pushing herself away from the wall slowly, she opened her mouth.

“Brolli…?” Her voice was soft and small, searching for an answer in the depths of thick silence that surrounded them.

Brolli’s fists fell open from the pressure exuding out of his fingers. The blue energy around him shifted, turning a gold-like hue before his eyes. If he didn’t back away now, the storm would surely burn the soft skin he had moments ago been so drawn to touch. For it was unstoppable now--the emotion welling inside of him had broken through the hard barrier of his body. And now it had found the only outlet available. He doubled over from the pain this time, as it was more intense than ever before.

“Brolli--?!” Bulma’s voice rose, but it was muffled now underneath the haze of his fury. Brolli stumbled out the bath chamber door backwards until he could do nothing more but raise his arms and spread his fingers, allowing the energy to pulse through his body like red hot plasma beams.

In less than a second, the pain seared through his throat like fire. And all he could do was scream. His voice rose and rose, tearing through the filaments of his vocal chords until he was growling like an animal, polyphonic tones erupting from his mouth into the electric air around him.

She was still calling his name, watching him from outside the circle of high density energy surrounding his body. She was pleading with him, begging him to stop. His _shall’la_ … _larushinta…nakaga… …_.. ..

Words of prayer his mother had taught him as a child floated through his mind. Chanting, pleading with the gods to let him live through this--as he had lived through his first transformation, though his body had almost broken in half. 

“ ** _Don’t--DON’T--!_** ” Words burst forth from his lips, spitting at her. “ ** _Don’t--come near me!_** ”

Bulma cowered by the bath chamber door, clutching at it like it would save her. Brolli’s feet rose from the ground. Bolts of energy struck about his body like fire in the sky. A tremendous pull tore at his scalp until he was sure that every hair on his head had been torn from it. He screamed again, praying that it would stop the pain. And with one last breath, he inhaled. The sharp heat of his jal’a came into his throat, burning and burning there…like someone thrusting flames down his gullet.

Brolli was aware then, that the storm had stopped. His throat, raw and torn from his own voice, was open and inhaling air in great, heaving gulps. Sobs of pain entered and left, while tears of effort and strain poured from the corners of his burning eyes. A memory stirred, filling him with the image of his first transformation.

A body shaking and bleeding with burns; a mother sobbing desperately, trying to revive the consciousness of her half-dead son.  And then his body was falling, down…  Down until his knees hit the floor with a great thud, cracking the tile beneath him. Above the harsh sound of his breathing, he heard the gasping sobs of his mother.

Bulma was by his side then, as close as her body would allow to the cylinder of aura that still surrounded him.

“Brolli--?!  Brolli!  What have you done…!”  Her words were foreign after that, surely the drivel of whatever primitive language her people had spoken.

Her hands were reaching out: trembling fingers that he would have given anything to touch the planes of his body moments ago. Brolli lifted his head, straining the thickness of his neck until he thought it would break. Eyes that he knew to be a glowing cerulean narrowed at the sight of her.

“ ** _Vash’halla! Keep away from me--!_** _”_  He snarled, pushing his wobbly body up. Bulma backed away, slinking by her bed and clutching on to the lacy sheets for a lifeline.

His legs were heavy beyond measure but he made his way towards the chamber door, slamming his palm down so heavily on the ID pad that it sparked and snapped. The door slid open, opening the way into the massive hallways of his palace:  this place where he had never truly felt at home, but had come to all because of _her_. Brolli tensed his arms and placed two fingers between his eyes.

The sensation of his body flickering out of focus made a sort of twisted orgasm in each synapse. He growled deeply in his throat when he reappeared, right outside of Vejiita-Zarshi’s open chamber door.  The prince was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over a broad chest and staring into the floor.

“The sting of your ki woke me out of a sound sleep moments ago, Kassha’hal.  What in all the gods’ good names happened to you?”

“ ** _Look at me, Vejiita-Zarshi--!_** ” Brolli growled, the haze of his fury and pain so blurry that he could scarce see a thing.

The Prince lifted an eyebrow, gazing in his direction. Commendably, he was able to keep the surprise in his expression minimal.

“For shame, Brolli. Letting a female affect you in such a way--!”

Brolli’s arm extended, as though it were not truly part of his body but a separate being acting of its own will. His hand was around the Prince’s neck before he could gain control of it, squeezing and squeezing the life out of the smaller man like a snake would constrict its prey. Vejiita-Zarshi’s eyes never left his. “ ** _Tell me, Zarshi-kalan.  Tell me!  Did you ask her to be your mate? Tell me now so I can kill you--!_** ”

Underneath his grip, the Prince swallowed and opened his mouth. And gods be damned, but there was a smirk growing on his lips. He was chuckling; it was a choked, wretched noise.

“Did I? Yes, Kassha’hal, I did.”

Brolli roared, unable to stop the hideous noise from coming out of his throat. His fiery fingers tightened, and Vejiita-Zarshi was choking admirably this time.

“ ** _You will pay for trying to take what is rightfully mine!!_** ”

The Prince was sneering again, and he gripped Brolli’s hand with both of his.

“Foolish monkey,” the other man mocked, “can’t you see--she is no one’s!”

“ ** _No!  Can’t you see?!  She is mine!!”_** Brolli’s voice rose to a thunderous, raging cloud of sound.

Vejiita-Zarshi was clawing at Brolli’s fingers now.

“Let me go, damn you! This is what she wanted all along!! You--thrashing about like an untamed animal for her sake! Let me--go! I can show you how we can both turn the--tables! How we can both bring her to her knees--!”

Brolli’s teeth ground together, and his clouded, stormy mind slowed to a swirling wind. He released Vejiita-Zarshi’s throat and thrust him up against the wall with one arm. The sight, the sound of everything around him was suddenly more palatable, as though he had just been born.

“She thinks we are animals, yes, Kassha’hal?” Vejiita-Zarshi was panting, resisting the grip quite splendidly, Brolli thought. “We’ll show her we’re anything but.” A few seconds of silence passed before the Prince’s eyes became narrow little slits of amusement. “She knows more than she should know where that shit-eater Furiza is concerned.  We can bleed her dry, Kassha’hal. She’ll realize too late that she fucked with the wrong ‘monkeys’.”

Brolli’s aura softened and his throat breathed fire into the atmosphere. A noise rumbled deep in his chest until he let go of Vejiita-Zarshi’s neck. Brolli lifted a finger to his Prince’s throat, letting a tiny ki ball rest at the tip.  It fizzled there just a few centimeters from Vejiita-Zarshi’s skin.

“ **I’m listening…** ”

 


	11. Chapter Ten - Ta Tekhinat

_**Ta Tekhinat** _

**“The Plan”**

*

 

**Planet Mizukashi; orbit idle time 30 hours; Aisu-jin fleet command ship: ‘ _Shafuri_ ’**

 

 

“Kalza, Furiza-lak.”

Bulma bowed prettily and smiled. Two weeks had passed since her initial meeting with the Aisu-jin emperor, and her proficiency in Aisugo had already begun to progress. Iriyon had been as much help as he’d said he would. The shiny, lizard-like creature grinned back at her, blinking his red eyes and flicking the end of his thick tail. She sat across from him.

“Kalza, Lady Bulma,” he said thoughtfully, “I see you’ve been studying quite a bit since our last meeting.”

Bulma raised an eyebrow. She’d been studying more than he knew, about more than he knew.

“Sha’za,” she agreed, “it is better to understand a people if one wants to communicate effectively.” Her skin was forming goose bumps even as they spoke, but Bulma contained her discomfort for the sake of the Aisu-jin leader. They were alone, here in Furiza’s study, surrounded by the cool air, even colder furniture, and myriad technology that was superior even to her efforts on Mizukashi. Bulma was taking in more than she knew Furiza was aware of.

He was nodding.

“And you have utilized that belief quite admirably, I must say,” Furiza hissed delicately.  Bulma smiled, though it felt more like a smirk.  “For two weeks you have been coming here, informing me of the Saiya-jin’s plans and movements--but you have yet to be discovered or even suspected of treason. You must know some convincing phrases in Saiyago, Bulma-sha.”

“Let’s just say that I know when words are necessary and when they are not,” Bulma replied. “But down to particulars, Your Highness; I know what the Saiya-jin plan to do next. Are you willing to give me what I requested?”

The shiny surface of Furiza’s lips was quirking. His tail twitched in the air behind him.

“My hunch is, Bulma-sha, that you have much more in mind now than what you originally requested.”

Bulma raised an eyebrow. The lizard was more observant than she had thought. But she would have to play her hand coolly for now.

“Why Furiza-lak, whatever would make you think such a thing?” She paused for a moment to allow him to absorb her demeanor. “I only want what I asked for: plasma radiation containment tech. Is it so much to ask?” Bulma shifted imperceptibly in her seat and folded both hands across her lap. She also wanted their cloaking formula so she could input the data into the small fleet of Mizuka-jin ships on Ten’rili. But he didn’t have to know that, not now anyway. Furiza looked anxious.

“I can give you the data and I can give you the sample containment device,” he said it this time in Mizukago. Bulma had learned over the past two weeks that when Furiza could not communicate with her effectively in his native language, he would use the language of her friends. Emperor Furiza had no knowledge of Saiyago, nor did he wish to have any. “You may have it so that you can duplicate the tech and reproduce it easily. But that is all, Bulma-sha.” He finished carefully in Aisugo. She nodded, smiling beautifully.

“Of course, Furiza-lak. I only ask for what we had originally decided on.”

“Of course,” he replied carefully, reaching for a glass of purya. He took a sip and eyed her over the rim of his goblet. Bulma shivered in the cool air. It was starting to affect her now. “So,” he said slowly, “the Saiya-jin; you said you had knowledge of their next move. Tell me.”

Bulma nodded and sat forward in her chair. Her elbows rested on the table between them. Yes, she knew. But she would not tell him the _exact_ truth. No, not this time. The Saiya-jin had already been denied negotiation opportunities twice because of her meddling.  If the Aisu-jin knew every move that the Saiya-jin made, there would be no doubt in Vejiita-Zarshon’s mind that something was amiss. He had all but forgotten about the Mizuka-jin resistance now, and she intended to keep it that way until the time was right.

“The Saiya-jin are planning to leave for Yuki-sei in two days, Furiza-lak. Because their first journey was delayed they have decided to venture there during Mizukashi’s new moon. Ten’rili is nearing the end of its cycle and it will be three days before its fourth cycle moon, Jenti, enters orbit. They will send three reconnaissance ships at one standard hour after moonrise on Mizukashi, and their fleet ship will depart an hour later, under cover of the complete darkness left from Ten’rili’s departure.”

Furiza looked pleased at this. _Good_ , she thought, _let him think it. He doesn’t have to know that the Saiya-jin are sending them three hours earlier than that._ Not only that, but the Saiya-jin were sending two fleet ships, not one. Since arriving in Mizukashi’s orbit under high-tech cloaking devices, the Aisu-jin had lost several resources, and were still waiting on two base ships. They would not be able to stop them even if they knew the real hour.

“Sha’lak, Bulma-sha.”  Furiza thanked her in his native tongue. “I shall be forever in your debt once this war is over.” Bulma wanted to smirk at that, but she did not. “Remind me, Lady Bulma,” he said in Mizukago, “to compensate you when we have crushed the Saiya-jin and become the new owners of the interstellar alliance. I can give you anything you want.”

Bulma did not like the way his voice lilted on those last words, but she smiled in response anyway and nodded.

“Sha’lak,” she said softly. “But you have given me enough already, Furiza-lak. I only ask that our agreement remain solid. You see, I have much to repay the Saiya-jin for, Your Highness. You have given me the tools to do so.”

The lizard-like humanoid tilted his chin backwards and smirked.

“Let us hope, Bulma-sha, that your compensation is appropriate.”

Bulma stood and pressed her fists together just below her waist.

“I assure you, Furiza-lak, I have all the preparations in hand.”

 

 

 

**Mizukashi; Interstellar Receiving Dock #16**

 

The dock was chilly, Bulma thought, but not so cold as Furiza’s chamber. Gods, she’d had about enough of this. She wished the maniacs would start killing one another more quickly so that she could be rid of them once and for all. A bit of a sneer left her lips at the very thought of them: the Saiya-jin and the Aisu-jin, each one knowing how very much they wanted to annihilate the other, and each one knowing that the other had committed a grave offense; but neither was willing to begin the fighting outright.  It reminded her of feuding lovers!

At this, though, Bulma recalled how odd things had been of late. For two weeks, she had seen very little of Brolli or of Vejiita. She had expected that Brolli would come looking for her as he did nearly every night, but he had not sought her affections since that night when his transformation had nearly killed him. She had watched him stumble out the door, broken and bleeding--and it had been the last she had seen of him in her chamber since then.

Bulma would not admit to herself that she regretted this lack of attention, nor would she admit that she had been craving his touch. What disturbed her the most was not her physical need for Brolli’s attention, but rather her constant interest in Vejiita. During her meetings with the King, Vejiita watched her with guarded and lustful eyes, as though he were trying to do with a gaze what he had begun in his chamber so many nights ago. She shuddered even now as she thought of it. Bulma could admit to herself that she still lusted for him, this was not difficult.  But something about him made it almost frightening to consider.

Over the past three years she had trained herself to need and to want only the sexual bliss that the men of this species were able to elicit from her. It was the sudden loneliness that surfaced whenever she thought of Vejiita--this regret and longing she felt whenever she thought of that night--that bothered her so. She must not feel it. To do so would prove fatal to her and to the Mizuka-jin--to her cause.

Perhaps the Prince was waiting for her to make the next move, she thought. Maybe he had resolved to let her to become the aggressor. She was not sure why, but Bulma was only slightly afraid of him... When she turned out of the dock, the warmer air inside the palace comforted her. It washed over her skin like a caress.

The hallway toward her chamber seemed darker than usual, but Bulma narrowed this oddity down to her tweaking nerves and despondent mood. The doors looked inviting though. Perhaps she would have time to nap before her meeting with the King. It would do her well to rest, she thought. Her racing mind had all but exhausted her body and spirit. Bulma reached out to place a delicate hand upon the comPanel and shut her eyes as the door slid open before her. The scent of the sea flooded her senses, and Bulma was confused to find her balcony doors wide open; the curtains were floating with the strong breeze.

Cocking an eyebrow in confusion, Bulma entered her chamber and went to the balcony. She gazed at it--at the reddish, purple glow of the sunset on the horizon. For a moment, she thought of Chikyuu, of Okinawa in the summer and making love on the beach at midnight... She thought of Naha City and shopping with her mother and the American soldiers who had given them flowers. How handsome they had been! Bulma squeezed her eyes shut. It would not do to think of such things. Because there was no more Chikyuu.  No more Okinawa, and no more making love on the beach.

“Are you dreaming, _Shall’la_?”

The voice behind Bulma startled her so, that she gasped and threw her back against the open balcony door. With heaving breaths, Bulma watched Brolli smile at her from the corner near her bath chamber. He uncrossed his legs and leaned against the wall. He was subtle, she thought...  Subtle, and his skin was shimmering. He’d been sparring.

“Dreaming...?” She repeated the word in Saiyago as though she still did not understand its meaning. “Dreaming.”  A pause, and then she looked away from him. “There is nothing to dream of, Brolli.” He was approaching and for a moment, Bulma contemplated escape. But no, it would seem suspicious if she did such a thing now.

Soon, his body was next to hers. She could smell the dissipating ki cloud on him; it was electric, alive like static. Brolli’s finger came to her bare arm and brushed a single trail down the length of it--to the very tip of her middle finger, and back again to her shoulder.

“I have missed you.”

Bulma’s eyes lifted, and she stared ahead into the wall opposite them.

“Do not pretend to coddle me,” she told him curtly. “It does not sound right--coming from your lips.”

“Would you prefer I spoke plainly, Shall’la?” He asked, clearly amused.  Brolli’s fingers were curling around her neck gently, and they settled on her thundering pulse. “I admit it then,” he whispered darkly.  “I want to be inside you, now.”

The guttural tones of his language and the lilting sound of his voice made supernovae of her nerve endings. But she would not let herself be manipulated so easily again. If he so desired her again, for the benefit of her project she may have to accept him. But, gods be damned, she thought, he would have to work harder for it this time!  Especially when she could scarcely stop herself from thinking of Vejiita while he spoke that way.

“The last I saw of you,” she began, “you were begging the gods for mercy. I liked you better on your knees, _Kassha’hal!_ It suited you!” Her snapping voice must have cut him, she thought, but, surprisingly, she could not see it.

Stepping away from him, Bulma left the balcony dais and headed toward her wardrobe. For several moments, Brolli did not say anything. This silence was uncanny. Hurriedly, Bulma shifted through her gowns and tunics. Perhaps if she ignored him long enough, he would become the aggressive, testosterone-charged warrior she knew well already. This, she could expect--could calculate and deal with accordingly.

Instead, he worried her further by sitting on the edge of her bed, cross-legged. She whirled around at the sound of his voice.

“Will you come and sit, Shall’la? Behind me, though. Put your hands on my back.”

Bulma clenched her fists behind her back. What in all the gods’ names was he pulling this time? Apprehension tickled at the small of her back until she felt she may have to scratch it.

“I--?” Infuriated by her own, dumbfounded shock, Bulma bit down upon her lip. “I have a meeting with the King. I do not have time for your cryptic mind games!”

To her horror, Brolli smiled. He was amused, intrigued.  He was thoroughly fascinated by her words.

“Mind games,” he said slowly. “Sit down, Bulma...  Vejiita-Zarshon is meeting with the Aash’an Raditsu. He will be busy for a while.”

Bulma’s brow furrowed. Brolli’s aura was a bit bluer than usual now, only it did not seem so volatile, as it had the last she’d seen of him. Her fingertips began to tingle. She would not tell herself it was because she desired to touch a man’s flesh or that the sight of Brolli’s glowing skin was alluring in a way she’d not noticed before.  Even if her mind was fixated on someone else, her body wanted him, she realized...and badly.

“Sit down, Bulma.” He said again. “I won’t bite unless you want me to.”

Her lip curled upwards in a defiant sneer.

“You expect too little of me.” She seethed. “Much as you would like to believe it, I have not been pining for your touch for the past two weeks.”

Again, he smiled. But this time it was not so surprised. Bulma’s eyes narrowed as he left the bed and approached her. No, this look was something different. He looked disappointed. Shaking his head, Brolli clicked his tongue.

“For shame, _Shall’la_.” He whispered. His aura swirled for a few seconds, caressing her skin as he came closer still. “Lying is so unbecoming of a lady.” There was silence as she glared at him, for all the resentment in the world could not equal her heart’s desire now. He reached up to touch a lock of her curled hair. “Do you think I can’t smell it: the way you want me?”

Bulma swiped his hand away from her but was dismayed when he caught her wrist in his fist. He smiled again; the more he did it, the more she despised him, she thought. Yet, terribly, the more she did want him.

“Just a moment,” he said quietly. “If you truly wish it, I will leave. Just give me a moment, will you?” Bulma eyed him suspiciously, but it seemed that she was in no position to argue. Despite protest Brolli would not let her go; she could feel the insistence in his grip. And so, without words, Bulma agreed.  She nodded slowly.

With perplexing tenderness, Brolli eased her fingers apart until they were splayed like a star over the broad surface of his chest. Under the soft golden skin of his left breast, Bulma could feel the thundering pulse of his heartbeat. And suddenly, as they stood, inches from one another and bathing in the essence of aura, Bulma could feel a gentle jolt in her fingers. It felt like a low dose of electric shock. She started just a bit, but Brolli’s grip tightened on her wrist. He placed a finger on his lips.

“Easy... Don’t be afraid. I won’t let it hurt you, I swear it.”

Bulma pressed the pads of her fingers into his skin and waited. Surely there was something underneath all of this pretense, she thought. All of this drama seemed unnecessary without his having an ulterior motive; Brolli did not often refer to her in such loving terms.

With glowing intensity, the warmth under her palm seemed to intensify. The electric current brushed her skin like a vibrating razor. Brolli’s eyes were closed, and his hand was tightening over hers again.

“Do you feel it?” He asked her, and she nodded slowly--afraid that any small movement may singe the tender skin at her fingertips.

“It’s so new and beautiful... _kaiyat’ehn_...” he paused and breathed so deeply, that Bulma feared she may be engulfed by his life force. “I think it’s you, Bulma...”

Her eyes narrowed darkly. He wouldn’t say it--he _couldn’t_!  All this time, he had not broken so easily as Raditsu; he could not break now! Not now when the fates of two empires were balancing precariously on her fingertips!

“Let me go, Brolli,” she said fiercely. The lines on her face were deepening. “I’ll not have you sniveling like Raditsu.  Perhaps if you stop now I can forget what you’ve said already.”

“Forget--?” He looked downcast, regretful. Brolli’s fingers left his chest, and he took up both of her hands in his. Their digits threaded together like a lovers’ dance. Bulma swallowed deeply and inhaled all the air her lungs could hold. “Why would I want you to forget? I want you to remember,” he paused and touched her chin with two fingers.  Lifting it until she looked him in the eye, he said, “Remember when I make you a slave again Bulma, that I have done it out of love.”

Blood drained from Bulma’s face so quickly that she thought perhaps she may swoon. All manner of emotion flooded her heart until she could no longer see his face clearly. Her fingers tightened around his until it was painful to grip any longer.

“What...?” Her voice was so completely full of quiet fury that she did not know if he had heard her. Brolli was smirking oh, so gently. “You bastard,” she seethed, “you can’t--you won’t!” Her voice rose of its own will. Brolli touched her mouth so softly that it seemed for a moment as though he had been joking. But a moment passed and Bulma was sure that he was not. “You---you--!” Now the words would not come, but he stroked her upper lip and shushed her.

“I can, Bulma, and I will. As a free woman, Prince Vejiita has claim over you to make you his mate, and he is a threat to me and to what is mine by right.  But as my slave, I can do as I wish with you. Perhaps I’ll try what you suggested before, _Lady Bulma_. Oh, but I suppose the title will not be yours much longer.”

Bulma willed the tears to stop gathering in her eyes.  A ball of rage grew in her chest, so hot and heavy that it threatened to destroy them both.

“This is outrageous! I don’t believe you would do such a thing, not after all this time, not after all I--!” She stopped, unaware that her comfort with him had gone so deep. Did she love him? No, she thought not. But suddenly, and violently, Bulma did not want to lose the amenities she had gained as his citizen and not his slave.  She did _not_ want to bow to him and call him ‘master’!

“After all you’ve done, Shall’la? Indeed...”

“Stop it, stop calling me that!” She insisted vehemently. The word was fast becoming a patronizing curse rather than the beautiful term of endearment she knew it to be.

“NO! After all I’ve given you--all I’ve sacrificed! I could have left, you know, Brolli. When you freed me I could have left but instead I stayed. I stayed and sacrificed a life of my own to become what you needed and wanted--!”

Brolli grinned and stroked the side of her face. The caress seemed only to well more anger, fear, and despair into the pit of Bulma’s stomach.

“What I need and want, Bulma, is someone loyal to my people and to me. Reach deep down inside, darling--are you loyal? Can you find it within yourself?   _Kanteksa..._ I’ll bet you can’t.”

“I am as loyal as I need to be--as I have to be!” Bulma’s voice began to shake. She willed it to remain steady, but her control was quickly wavering. The idea of slavery, of again becoming only a possession to him or to anyone, made her skin crawl with agony. “You had my body, Brolli.  You had everything you could take from me!  What more do you want--?”

“I told you once before that you belong to me. Do you remember, Bulma?  I meant it, you know? In your language or mine, in all the known galaxies the meaning is the same.”

“No!” Bulma felt her voice protest, but she could not see any change in his countenance or feel any change in his caress. “I do not belong to anyone!  Not to you, not to Vejiita--not to this empire.  No one!”

Brolli’s hand closed around her waist, and she gasped--because there was no tenderness in his hold.  He was hurting her, and he was doing it on purpose.

“You ask what more I want, Bulma. And that is you--all of you.” A pause, and his grip tightened.  Small black dots formed at the corners of her vision. “And to do that,” he continued, “you must be my slave.

“I love you, you know?  More than all the power that flows through my veins.  But you will not laugh in my face as you did Raditsu.  No. Before this war with the Aisu-jin is over Bulma, you will wish you’d kissed my feet when you had the chance.”

Bulma swallowed convulsively, breathing deeply to avoid the faintness that threatened to overtake her. Suddenly, the look in his eyes was no longer something to contend with. He was very serious. And for the first time in eight years, Bulma was powerless against her own fate. Sweat inched down the center of her back, and she laid a hand upon his. His grip loosened slightly until she could breathe clearly again.

“This will never work, Brolli,” she gasped, desperate for reprieve. “Do you think your own king will stand for this when I am his only hope against the Aisu-jin tech? Do you think Vejiita will stand for it?”

Brolli’s hand left her waist, and for a moment Bulma saw in his eyes a surrender. She saw a kind of sorrow--a kind of sickness. His large palm cupped her face and tilted it upward until she had no choice but to look in his eyes. Bulma remembered the icy turquoise of his transformation.  He brushed his lips to her nose, the corner of her mouth.

“You will do as the _Zarshon-kalan_ asks, though you will be a slave. He will not lose your duty. Besides, do you think any of that matters to me? _Ki Kassha’hal kari..._   I am the Chosen One, Bulma.  All the _gods_ , if I didn’t take so much pride in this empire I could incinerate the king and any number of brats he had waiting to take his throne--let alone Prince Vejiita. Don’t be so naïve, Bulma. You’re much smarter than that.”

Unwittingly, Bulma let the tears come. Kami above, she wanted to die and drown in the Blood Rivers of Hell forever; the shame was too unbearable. His kiss was sweeter than any she’d known:  on the beaches in Naha...and on the bridge in the park near her home. Her tears were a bitter contrast to the sugary texture of his kisses. She hated him for it with all her soul. His groan was so self-satisfied that Bulma wanted to be sick.

“I’ve always wanted to taste your tears, Shall’la.  Taste your hopelessness. _Vash’halla..._ It tastes like my heaven.”

“I hate you, Brolli,” she hissed suddenly, as though it would have done any good. “Great Kami above, I hate you!”

Brolli clicked his tongue and grinned rather evilly.

“Good,” Brolli sneered. “ _Good_...”

More tears dripped down her cheeks in humiliating waves. _Oh Kami!  Remind me that tears are not weakness!_ There was a pause, and then Brolli leaned up and away from her, the satisfaction on his face never receding or weakening.

“You will stay in your own private cell, Bulma. Away from my other slaves, yes, but there you will never forget that you indeed are one of them. These chambers shall be kept for my use--that is, only when I intend to use you. But do not fret, _Shall’la_ , I suspect that will be quite often.”

Brolli shouted towards the chamber door before she had time to protest. The guards entered with a bursting noise and came toward her as though she were armed. Bulma remembered the containment device, safely concealed within her tunic, and reached out to Brolli’s arm just as a guard gripped her by the waist.

“You will regret this as long as you live, _Kassha’hal_. I swear it to you on my life!”

The guards paused when Brolli held up a palm. He leaned toward her again and pressed his cheek against hers. His breath was hot as fire.

“Your life is not worth so much any longer, Bulma _._ ”

Standing up to his full height again, taller even than the guards who held her, Brolli looked away from them. As they dragged her away from her chamber, away from the life she had built for herself on the tears and pain of loneliness, Bulma did not protest.

 

#

 

Vejiita was dueling a computer generated opponent when the Shakan Brolli came quietly into the arena. To dispose of the program quickly, Vejiita halted his physical attack. A mechanical voice came from the computer, warning him to approach or be destroyed. Idiotic thing.

Vejiita let the ki surge through him until it left his palm in a volatile sphere of energy. The hologram dissipated and the computer began reprimanding him for the use of ki during a practice session. Vejiita ignored it and faced Brolli. He removed his gloves one by one.

“It’s done,” the Kassha’hal said quietly--apathetically. Vejiita smirked at him and headed towards the center of the ring.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He asked of Brolli, taking a deep breath and preparing to ask the computer for another round. He spread his palms and shut his eyes, turning his back to the other Saiya-jin warrior.

“I expect you to hold your side of the bargain, _Zarshi-kalan_.” Brolli said, and Vejiita thought that he could hear the soft  click of the Kassha’hal's knuckles as they clenched into a fist.

The Saiya-jin Prince smirked and opened his eyes again. The arena was pleasantly engulfed by sunlight today. Since his arrival on Mizukashi for the Festival of Summer, Vejiita had never seen the day look so very beautiful. He sighed and turned to face Brolli.

The Kassha’hal's aura was inflamed just a bit, and his eyes, each time his jaw shifted, flickered a brilliant shade of turquoise. Vejiita wanted to reach into his skull and pluck them out.

“As a prince I am obligated to adhere to my word.” Vejiita said, stepping out of the center ring and heading toward his personal effects. As he neared Brolli, the Kassha’hal’s ki flared just enough so that Vejiita could see and feel it. He stopped before passing by, and rest one fist on his hip.

“Don't look so fucking _gloomy_ , Brolli. You're ruining the beautiful day.” When he stepped away, Vejiita could feel Brolli's murderous gaze on his back. “Perhaps you don't trust me now,” he said slowly, gathering his towel, communicator and scouter. “But you will,” he turned to face Brolli again, “in time. The Lady Bulma's will should be showing stress fractures by now. She has lost her rights as a citizen of the Saiya-jin Empire, and I'm sure that she abhors the aspect of becoming your bed-slave again. Though gods help me, I can't see why, can you?”

Brolli's upper lip curled over his teeth. He snarled, and his tail was ruffling.

“It is not a matter of my trust, Vejiita-Zarshi,” he said irritably. “You do not know Bulma as I do, and you cannot see her for what she is just yet. Of course, you can see, she is beautiful: a perfect object for desire, and easy to use for personal gain. But you do not see her on the inside. Bulma is a snake, trapped inside the body of a Chikyuu-jin--!”

“And I am a gods-damned dragon, trapped in this body. For all the gods' sakes, Kassha’hal, do you think so little of yourself? Of your race? Compared to us, she is nothing!  Nothing!  I do see her; _you_ have made yourself blind to her true nature.

“You have allowed her destroy your Saiya-jin soul. I'm not at all surprised that she wants to overthrow you,” Vejiita paused and added before turning to leave, “if you want this to work, you should take whatever feelings you may have for the human female and throw them to the wayside.

“I am more ruthless and twice as unforgiving as she is, _Kassha’hal_ , and I will tear her soul apart until she has not the will to fight me any longer. Do not forget that.”

There was silence as The Chosen One watched his Prince, eyes still flickering and aura still aflame. A Mizukashi sea bird called out from the top of the arena ceiling, and waves of sea air floated in through the open balconies. Vejiita breathed deeply and called for his guard. The soldier stepped inside the arena entrance and waited patiently.

Brolli bowed his head; one eye still perched on Vejiita's shoulder.

“Suukah, Vejiita-Zarshi. Of course, you are right.”

Vejiita sneered and waited for Brolli's eyes to lower completely. When they did not, he growled and turned away. If he stood there much longer, he thought, he would rip out the Kassha’hal's throat and remind every remaining Saiya-jin in the known universe just how insignificant the man was compared to the crown.

As the guard followed him toward his chamber, Vejiita began to think. He wondered how he would go about “holding his part of the bargain”, as Brolli had put it. He'd had a plan, but now it seemed as though more drastic measures would be needed. And he had spoken the truth; he would indeed make the Lady Bulma crawl on her knees before him. And he would not, could not, be so besotted with her that he would lose all sense of who he truly was—as the Aash'an Raditsu and the Kassha’hal Brolli had done. He thought perhaps, that Raditsu had begun to recover. After all, he had willingly given the woman up to Brolli because of her destructive quality. Perhaps Brolli would follow suit in due time. At least, Vejiita hoped to the gods that he would.

His chamber was humid, despite the rather dry weather, and Vejiita blamed the fact that he had not been inside it since late last evening. War efforts were fully underway, and the Prince had not had ample time to sleep more than three hours a night since it had begun. He wondered for a moment at Emperor Furiza. He had to hand that slimy bastard one thing; he had been exquisitely and perfectly Saiya-jin in his efforts to wipe out his enemy. In fact, if Vejiita did not hate the Aisu-jin shit head so very much, he would have considered him for a possible ally.

For a moment, Vejiita thought of his home.  He thought of Vejiita-sei and of the shoreline in summer. He thought of her twin red suns and the purple dusk. But as quickly as they had come, Vejiita pushed the thoughts away from his mind; it would not do to mourn things that could not be changed. Then he wondered about the Lady Bulma, and if she ever thought of Chikyuu...

Strangely, and suddenly irritated, Vejiita ordered his guard away and waited until the door was shut behind him until he began readying himself for the task at hand. Later, he would join his father at the planning of this war, and he would see off the ships that would take several thousands of the remaining Saiya-jin soldiers to Yuki-sei. Once the troops had been unleashed, the Aisu-jin would have little time to run let alone to save their miserable little planet. And then, all that would be left would be Furiza and his pathetic fleet. It was partially amusing to think of, yet the obstacles in the way made things a bit more complicated than simple annihilation.

The day was waning on late afternoon, so Vejiita would have to hurry. By nightfall, he must have been able to bed Bulma, and gain her trust---at least a fraction of it. And he would stop at nothing to have that. _Nothing_ , he thought. This kind of spar, he thought, would have no holds barred.

Quickly, he bathed and changed into a pair of traditional-style pants. Brolli wore them constantly, and Vejiita's father had made a recent decision to require that all nobles and royalty wear traditional clothing when not sparring or engaged in battle. Vejiita liked the look of them, but he abhorred the feel. He was not used to the thick material of the pants, and he did not like traipsing about with no shirt on. He had to admit though, the sight of any Saiya-jin female wearing the same style pants and something that resembled a napkin wrapped around her breasts was quite a thing to look at.

Vejiita clicked the heavy belt shut on his pants and reached onto his bureau for the jeweled diadem that would grace his forehead. On it was a shining ruby, encrusted with the seal of his house. Damnable things... Yet, Vejiita had to admit that on his forehead, amidst the jet-black of his hair, it looked better than it felt. Finally, splashing some cool fragrance on his newly shaven face, Vejiita took his communicator and left the chamber.

By now, the hallways had turned a golden red in the sunlight. The journey to the slave quarters would not be long, he remembered, so he must pace himself. There was no doubt that the Chikyuu-jin female was able to rouse him to near hysteria with the desire to fuck her senseless. And so, he must be calm. He must be resolute and firm in his dealings with the woman, and so he must not lose control. She would see through that kind of weakness quite easily, Vejiita surmised. For that was where she drew much of her strength.

So, by the time Vejiita reached the slave quarters, he had mastered his breath quite skillfully. There were two guards outside the small hallway, and the marbled hallways had suddenly turned to smooth granite. The guards bowed to him.

“I wish to see one of the slaves,” Vejiita said simply. “Brolli's bed-slave, Bulma. Where is she?” The guard to his left glanced briefly at his comrade and inhaled deeply.

“Within, Zarshi-kalan. But the Kassha’hal left us with strict orders that she is not to be touched by any Saiya-jin save for him. Should we rouse her from the cell, we would risk death.” He soldier looked like a worm.

Vejiita snarled and reached out to grab the front base of the guard's neck. The guard to his right fell on one knee. Vejiita squeezed tightly and listened to the other man's labored breathing for a moment.

“You insolent piece of _shit_! You would risk a fate worse than death if you defy me once more! I am your PRINCE. Now open this fucking gate!”

Vejiita unlocked his fist and let the soldier fall to his feet. The guard's chin smacked Vejiita's boot. Smirking, he watched as the guard struggled to his feet and placed a palm on the security panel. The other guard remained on one knee next to him. Chuckling softly, Vejiita lifted a foot and smacked the prostrate soldier on the jaw so swiftly that he skidded ten feet away. The gate's red glow faded into a cooler green as the security panel recognized the other guard's clearance, and opened.

“Suukah,” the guard said, bowing deeply. “This way, Zarshi-kalan.”

Vejiita watched the other man for a moment before he pushed him back out into the hallway. The guard stumbled backward but managed to remain afoot.

“Go and find something more useful to do.” Vejiita insisted. “If you want to lick Brolli's boots then I suggest you go do so. I'm sure I can manage alone.” He smacked the inner security panel and turned when it shut in front of him.

The hallway inside the quarter was lined with plain, white panels, which led into each cell. The security panels flickered irritably in the dim light. With no way of identifying which cell was Bulma's, he would have to rely on scent to locate her. Sure that her aura was burning with fury, Vejiita had no doubt that he would find her without much trouble.

With one foot steady in front of the other, Vejiita made his way down the narrow corridor. He scanned each area in front of each door for female pheromones, and then again for the scent of a human. When at last, he was sure that he'd found her cell, Vejiita stopped and grinned to himself. This was, no doubt, going to be more fun than he had originally anticipated.

Reaching up to the conPanel, Vejiita pressed his palm to it and then typed in his code in order to override the system on just the one cell. As the door slid open, Vejiita saw the blue-haired Chikyuu-jin seated quietly on her plain bed, staring up at him with wide, ire-filled, icy blue eyes.

She was surprised to see him, yes he could tell that just by looking at her. But something else he could see was that she seemed at odds with herself. Was she pleased? Disgusted? It appeared to be a small bit of both. For a moment she just watched him, eyes narrowed and regarding him with about the same amount of respect one might give a fish.  She had been issued a standard black shirt and pants, with a linen tunic to show her new status.

With just a slight smile quirking at the edges of her mouth, Bulma turned her face away from him and sighed into the wall.

“Have you come to rape and pillage, Vejiita-Zarshi?  It shouldn't be hard now.”

Vejiita’s mouth twitched.  Such a proud, sardonic little things she was.  She knew very well that he had not come here to rape her, and she knew it so well that she had dared to turn her eyes from him.  Shifting on his feet, Vejiita hooked one thumb just inside the waistline of his pants.

“Rape?”  He asked, amusement dancing heavily on his tone.  “Pillage?  Come now, Lady Bulma.  Do you think so little of me, even now?”

The blue-haired Chikyuu-jin turned her face to look at him again.  She was smiling wanly.

“On the contrary, _Zarshi-kalan_ ,” a pause, and she hung on the Saiya-jin title like hanging on a tightrope.  “I would be most disappointed in you if you at least did not _try_.  My gods, what would happen to your reputation then?”  She looked away again.

Vejiita did not respond for a moment, letting her words float on the silent air a little bit longer.  Let her think he was upset by her countenance.  Let her believe she had hurt his ego just a bit...

Clearing his throat, Vejiita moved so that he could walk toward the center of the cell.  Its white, alloy walls were a stark contrast to the Mizuka-jin architecture of the rest of the palace.  Yes this cell block was, without a doubt, Saiya-jin in origin.  In the corner opposite the bed was a small mirror, chair and wash basin.  The toilet was separated by a small compartment behind him.  There was marble beneath his boots, and shyre cat fur carpet next to the bed:  both expensive materials.  The bed looked comfortable enough.  Vejiita had to admit; being a slave on this planet could not be so very bad.  He’d seen worse slave quarters in his day.  But, he supposed, the Chikyuu-jin would not think of it that way.

Without looking at him, Bulma suddenly said, “and you have no use for that name any longer, Zarshi-kalan.  As I have been made a slave I can no longer make use of Saiya-jin title.  ‘ _Shal’ba’_ means very little to me now, doesn’t it?”

Vejiita continued to watch her, and made sure that his expression exuded empathy.  It must, or else his cover would be blown.  When she looked at him again, her round eyes were thin slits of odium.  And somewhere, deep inside those flickering gems, he could see suspicion.  He must try and make her rule it out somehow, even if she kept the hate.  At least for now...

“What did you come here for?”  She asked.  And the tone demanded an answer.

Vejiita shrugged, crossing both arms across his bare chest.

“You seem to be quite sure already-- _Shall’la_.”

Bulma’s body shifted violently on the bed, and she slid forward so that her chest jutted proudly forward and her chin pointed downward as she glared at him.  Her movements so resembled that of a snake that he was not sure if Brolli’s earlier description had not been correct.

“Never call me that,” she snapped furiously.  “Never call me that again!  Your language should not come equipped with such terms.  You have no concept of emotion--none but brutal, mindless fury!”

Vejiita held up a hand to her.  She seemed to back down, at least for a moment.  Perhaps she was not scared of Brolli or of his power, but she seemed only slightly more intimidated by the movement of his hand---of his not just his physical power, but that inherent in him.  For what he lacked in brute force, Vejiita made up for in countenance and stance.  He knew he was intimidating, and this infuriated her.  If Bulma had a snake’s tongue, he thought then, surely she’d have hissed by now.

Taking a step forward, he reached out to touch her hair.  He paused, and raised an eyebrow to see if she would not strike out and bite his hand.  When she did not move, only continued to stare at him with those angry eyes, Vejiita let his brow soften.  Touching some loose strands of her sky-blue hair, and finally the curve of her determined jaw, Vejiita let himself smile.  It was an odd feeling at first, smiling with real emotion, but he did try.

“You think you know so much about my race, don’t you, Bulma?”  He asked her, complying with her wishes for the present.  He knelt before her, and Vejiita traced a finger down the swan-like curve of her neck into the bosom of her dress.  “When really,” he continued, “you know so very little.”

“I don’t _need_ to know anything more about you and your pathetic, monkey race!”  Bulma seethed.  “All I need do is think of my family to remember what you are!  All I have to do is call on the memory of Chikyuu:  an empty graveyard where my people will forever wander, never to rest!”

Vejiita leaned in and pulled ever so gently on the collar of her tunic.  He chose to ignore her insults for the moment.

“Before you make snap judgments, Bulma,” he whispered against her mouth, “won’t you let me tell you the _real_ reason for my coming here?”

Her body was rigid and unrelenting with fury.  This would not be easy, Vejiita thought, and he would have to tread very lightly.  With a scowl on her face that would bring down a god, Bulma squinted and breathed deeply.  When it appeared that she would say no more, Vejiita shifted on his knee and let go of her collar.

“I know you think me a raving, blood-thirsty lunatic,” he said, with some measure of amusement.  “But the truth is,” he paused, waiting until she was really— _really_ —listening.  “The truth is that I think what Brolli has done to you is beyond what even he would call unjust.”  Vejiita leaned up against the side of the bed and continued watching her.  “I believe—I _know_ he has gone mad for you, you know?”

Bulma straightened her spine and looked away.

“That is his weakness.  He knew what I was to him in the beginning; he should have used more discretion.”

“Surely _you_ are not making excuses for his behavior?”  Vejiita smirked and leaned into the palm of his hand.  He sHEHeHe s

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Bulma looked back at him.  Her eyes were softening just a bit.

“I make excuses for no one, Vejiita.  But I know how living things work...  Even Saiya-jin.  This would have happened, whether now or tomorrow or a week from today.  Something provoked him, and that is all.”

Vejiita smiled.  Holy gods, if only she knew what _had_ provoked him.  He pushed away from the bed slowly and stood before her.  She looked up at him with a kind of half-masked contempt.

“Regretfully,” he began, “since Brolli is governor on this sovereign world even I cannot supersede a ruling on his own slave.  I would prefer to see you a Saiya-jin citizen, but I cannot reinstate your title unless the Kassha’hal dies.”  He waited, seeing the amusement on her face when she looked toward the back wall.  Even she knew that such a thing was a distant possibility.

“I am, however, at liberty to purchase or even to take one of Brolli’s slaves without question.”

Vejiita held out his left hand to her.  Bulma looked at him suspiciously, calculating—deciding.  When she had decided that no devilry lurked in his action, at least at this time, Bulma took his hand and stood.  Her hair still smelled of spiced, Mizukashi fruits.  Her lips were still glistening with oils.  Vejiita reached out to brush a lock of curly, sea-blue hair off of her proud shoulder.  She did not move.

“So,” he began again.  “I suppose the only question is:  would you rather be his slave, or mine?”

Aquamarine eyes glared into him with such intensity that he wondered if they were not really on fire.  Bulma opened her full lips and smiled ever so delicately.

“And what, if you’ll pardon my ignorance _Zarshi-kalan_ , would be the fucking difference?”

Vejiita smirked again and traced the outline of her bottom lip.  Chuckling deep in his throat, he snaked a hand around to her back and settled his hand in the dip of her spine.

“I think you know, Bulma, just how different things would be with me...”  He whispered, and pressed with his palm until she was flush against him.  She seemed to like that response, he thought, as she flattened both of her hands against his bare chest and splayed her fingers wide like stars.  Her fingers snaked up his shoulders now, until both of her hands were on either side of his sweating neck.  This cell had suddenly gotten incredibly hot, he thought with some amusement.

Vejiita could see the calculations in Bulma’s eyes even as she hooded them and breathed against his mouth.  But let her plot and conspire, he thought; she could not read him as she could read Brolli.  She did not know how very heartless he could be.  The insistence of her mouth was enticing enough to make him want to forget his plan, but Vejiita was not so easily swayed in his convictions.

Making use of his _jal’a_ , Vejiita warmed the spot on her lower back where he had rest his palm.  Massaging the skin there, he smirked at Bulma’s soft moan.  He lifted his free hand and touched her face.  The skin was cool on her cheek, and she leaned into the caress with a self-satisfied smile playing on her lips.  Vejiita’s hand slid down until he was able to shift the tunic off of her shoulders.  It pulled apart and away from her bosom until it slid away and pooled soundlessly on the floor.  His feverish fingers inched up under the soft, stretchy shirt she wore, where he was delighted to discover the bare underside of her breasts. 

With the gentleness of a real lover, and Vejiita took great care for it to feel so, he lifted the shirt from her body and put both hands on her hips.  But because Bulma was so frightened by this tenderness, indeed she was terrified, she put both shaking hands on his and pushed until the pants had also pooled at her feet.

She stood before him, for all the world, a goddess. Her skin was glistening gently in the dim light of the cell.  She was sweating, and Vejiita dipped his fingers into the hollow of her throat, trailed them up and into her hair.

“Ah, Shall’la.” Vejiita purred against her mouth. “Ki lagah Saiya-jin sogo sha’bahlan...”  _I will make you forget everything you know about Saiya-jin..._

Blue eyes opened and regarded him with some modicum of respect and hopefulness.

“For your sake, I hope you can.”  She said, so softly.  Vejiita grinned at her wit _._   Bulma knew her power, and she could utilize it if she so pleased.  But she would discover soon enough, he thought, that his walls would be more difficult to conquer.  Chuckling, he kissed her deeply and tucked his other hand around her flaring hip until he cupped her bottom.

Vejiita found the heat in his groin nearing a slow burn, even still clothed as he was and separated from her damp skin by the loose pants he’d put on.  Yet he was not surprised by his desire; he’d been lusting after the female since the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

She was more agreeable than he’d guessed; Bulma moaned girlishly into his mouth and squeezed the tips of her fingers into the skin of his neck.  This aggression only fueled his arousal.  And so, delicately, he reached a leg around to muddle her footing.  Bulma inhaled sharply and held dearly onto his neck as she lost her balance.

The bed was not so uncomfortable as it seemed, Vejiita thought as he came to rest on it.  Sliding up toward the wall, he rested his back on it and drew Bulma’s legs toward him to frame his hips.  She was very strong, Vejiita realized:  stronger than she looked.  Her legs trapped his with such glittering ferocity that he wondered if keeping her above him was really prudent.  He found that he did not care though as he continued to gaze at her body.  Never having seen her completely naked, Vejiita was awed.

Bulma’s body was the essence of desire; Brolli had spoken truly.  Not perfection, no, but something else:  something truly beautiful.  For perfection was nothing more than an illusion, Vejiita reasoned.  But this female’s body was delicious and real.  If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought her a virgin; her appearance was so untouched.  Instead, the idea of Bulma’s already present sexuality made her all the more alluring.  Reaching out to her seemed the only natural progression now.

She seemed to come toward his hands, the way a flower bends toward the sun’s rays in late summer.  And her flesh yielded beneath his touch as though she were nothing more than the elegant waves of ki dancing on his fingertips.  Vejiita decided to treat her as such; for a gathering of ki energy must be handled with as much grace and tenderness as aggression and accuracy.  Each part of her body, he decided, would be something to attend to.

And so, Vejiita continued.  Starting with her exotic face, he met with her fluttering eye lids, delicate nose and slightly parted lips with equal pressure and alternating time.  Lingering on her sweet mouth with one hand, Vejiita let his free hand continue his task.  He waited until every part of her was tingling, studying each part as he did so:  her proud neck, shoulders, and collar bone—followed with a trail to the rising and falling peaks of her breasts.  Her tightly firm nipples seemed to strain even harder against his fingers, and her breath quickened at the contact.  Memory came to him of the night Vejiita-sei had been destroyed, and how he had almost had her then...

Bulma’s quiet moan suddenly penetrated the silence of the chamber cell.  His mind came back to the present, and Vejiita realized suddenly that the warmth above his groin where she was seated was growing.  He knew she would not wait much longer before becoming frustrated.  A single finger traversed the plain of her stomach until he was tickling his way around her bellybutton.  This seemed only to bother her more, and Bulma grabbed his probing hand, placing it firmly on her bare backside as she thrust her lovely hips forward.  Damp, hot need seeped through the lap of his pants.

The movement was painful in a way Vejiita was not familiar with.  Instinctively, he growled at her advance and squeezed her backside so hard that she fell forward slightly, bracing her palms against the wall behind him.  Bulma’s lips curved into a delicate smirk.  Realizing that her intent was to subdue him, Vejiita’s mind was quickly coherent once more.  He pushed away the folds of his pants to loose himself, and let the long, hard length of him press against her slick thighs. 

She was more eager than expected, the little hot-blooded thing, and with a breathless sigh she reached down between them to grip him soundly in her fist.  Vejiita clenched his jaw against the groan in his chest.  No need to get carried away yet…

The soft tip of Bulma’s thumb was toying with his already glistening tip, and she angled herself to mount him.  Vejiita breathed in deeply, smelling her fruited skin, the musky arousal in the air, the freshness of her hair as it tumbled around his face.  His right hand shot up to grip her hip so tightly that a small _yip_ of surprise escaped her parted lips.

“Not like that, little Chikyuu-jin…”  He whispered to her and gripped her other hip as tightly.  Bulma’s chin cocked to the side a bit, and she watched him with the intensity of a predator.  Vejiita grinned from the side of his mouth and pushed her hips slowly down, down… Until he was sinking into her with agonizing slowness.

Surely, Bulma could tell that this pace was unfamiliar to him; she already knew his instincts as well as he did.  But Vejiita found that the quiet descent of her body onto his was pleasing.  He could feel every inch inside of her, every inch of her tight, wet heat.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and gathered in the curve of his neck at the hairline.  Bulma’s fingers were dawdling on his collar bone when she came to rest finally on his lap.  When he began to move though, thrusting his hips off the bed more quickly, Vejiita found that he did not have the stamina he had originally planned on.  He had thought, perhaps, that with enough play he could let her ride him at her leisure.

But Bulma’s body was gliding with his in a way he had never known any female to.  She rode against him, met him push for push as her voice rose to a panicky kind of sigh.  This time the growl in his chest made its way out of his throat and mingled with her voice until he clenched his teeth against it.  Gods, he could almost taste the very beginnings of release at the base of his cock, begging to be let free as he pounded into her.  His hands left her hips to crush both of her full breasts in his big hands, only to cover one swollen peak with his mouth and _taste_ the sweetness of her skin.  Bulma’s hands had come to her throat, and she cried out hysterically.  It was as though she had willed herself under control, and had lost it in a desperate battle.

Vejiita was surprised when she came more quickly than he had anticipated.  She gasped and whimpered as though she’d never known sex before.  He gripped onto her waist again so that she would not collapse, and rolled her to his side.  When she looked at him, Bulma’s skin was shimmering prettily with sweat and the afterglow of orgasm.  Vejiita lifted his knee to allow himself more room and gripped the sides of her face.  His body shook with a sudden and violent desire.

“I hope you are not finished, _Shall’la_ ,” he hissed, “I had thought you more resilient than that.”

As she breathed deeply, Bulma’s lips thinned into a scowl.  She reached behind Vejiita’s head, dug her fingers deeply into his black hair and finally his scalp.  She rolled onto her back, taking him with her.  And there, he felt suddenly as though he had made a bed of her body.  Inside her, he knew only comfort.  He found this terrifying, and he tried desperately to bury the feeling with a violent thrust.  She gasped, because he was so far within her.  But Vejiita liked that sound:  The sound of something on the verge of pain and pleasure.  Bulma’s back arched up toward the ceiling, probably because he had not yet moved.  Her mind was fighting a difficult battle, he thought.  But he must have patience.  If he was to tame her soul, it would take much more than the type of mating he was used to.

As he pushed himself up onto his palms, Vejiita craned his neck down until his mouth was very close to her ear.

“So beautiful _..._ ”  He whispered.  Bulma’s body stiffened slightly.  “So very beautiful, _Bulma-kalzan._ ”  She squirmed beneath him, even as he continued to move inside her.

“ _Stop--!_ ”  She hissed in reply.  “Stop acting like you care!”

Vejiita smirked, but she could not see it.

“ _Shhhh..._ ”  He pressed his lips against her ear and, pausing, Vejiita took a quiet breath.  “I will take care of you, _Shall’la._ ”

He reached underneath her bottom and lifted it up just a bit above the surface of the bed and toward his body.  She shuddered, and that movement sent a shock through him that signaled his oncoming release.  When Vejiita lifted his head a bit and saw that there were tears glistening in the corners of her closed eyelids, he smiled.

“You have nothing to fear, Bulma.  Nothing…”  He said through a constricting throat.

When he came, he thought perhaps that there was a storm coursing through him.  Shocks of orgasm crested over his loins and through every limb, achingly out toward his fingertips.  Bulma shuddered and cried desperately into his shoulder as he raged his release into her.  His body stiffened and relaxed, and he slid down from his palms to lie against her.

Vejiita kneaded at her skin until he was through the clouds of orgasm.  There would be no easy way out of this, he thought lazily as she settled beneath him.  But he recalled, just before she’d shut her eyes, there had been a sliver of defeat.  If only a sliver, he thought, it had indeed been there.

Bulma would break.  Vejiita needed only time to be on his side.

 


	12. Chapter Eleven - Magatehk'na

**_Magatehk’na_ **

**“Suspicion”**

            Bulma watched as her breath collected in the air against the glass.  It was chilly tonight, as it had been for three days since the departure from Mizukashi.  It was the first time she’d been off-world since leaving Vejiita-sei two years ago; she had forgotten the loneliness and desolation of outer-space.  And as they traveled further through the Videon Galaxy and closer to Yuki-sei, it simply got darker and lonelier...

            She gazed out the full-length windows in her science lab.  It was not as large, nor as well-equipped as her lab on Mizukashi, and the constant hum of the ship’s machinery made concentration difficult.  But, she thought, it was better than those box-like slave quarters she’d traveled in on her trip from the slave ship to Vejiita-sei eight years ago.  At least she had been able to make this lab her sleeping quarters as well.  And it was comfortable enough.

            Bulma thought back on the hours before leaving Mizukashi, and how recently she had been entertaining the thought that she would never see it again.  In a way, the thought made her quite sad; Bulma had grown to like Mizukashi quite a bit and had fostered close friendships with its natives.  Luckily enough, Iriyon had been commissioned her assistant on this journey and had accompanied her along with a few of his most competent scientists.  But Bulma knew in her heart that she would never feel at home again – not for a moment.  And though she tried desperately to accept this feeling of complete alienation, it was indeed difficult.

            Bulma sighed and turned from the dark window.  The lab was bright against her eyes, and she squinted.  Her latest attempt at replicating the containment device Furiza had given her had failed, and she was beginning to get the impression that it was what he’d wanted.  Damn him, she thought.  She would finish the device if it killed her.  The Saiya-jin had more or less commissioned her to advance the tech knowledge, knowing it would aid in their defense against the Aisu-jin.  If only they knew where she’d obtained the prototype.  Stupid monkeys…  Curling her upper lip, Bulma sighed in disgust at the heap of tech lying on the cold metal counter.

            The lab door swished open, and Iriyon entered with his chief plasma specialist, Kiyak.  Kiyak was beautiful, for a Mizuka-jin, Bulma thought – and brilliant by Mizuka-jin female standards.  There weren’t many female scientists.

            “Shaji Bulma,” Iriyon greeted her with something akin to a smile.  “I’ve brought Kiyak.  She thinks she may have found a solution to your problem!”

            “Oh, Iriyon,” Bulma said, on the verge of hopelessness, “I do hope so.  Kiyak, I’ve been trying to calibrate the plasma stabilizer for at least ten hours.”

            The young Mizuka-jin female approached the counter and bowed to Bulma slightly before blinking her fish-like eyes and reaching out to it.

            “Shaji,” she began quietly, “what happens when you attempt to seal it?”

            “The containment field collapses,” Bulma explained, using the Saiyago word by accident.  She cursed.  “I’m sorry Kiyak,” she said miserably.  “The containment field, it _collapses_.  If there were actually plasma in there, we’d have been dead hours ago.  _Gods_ , it infuriates me!”

            “No need to worry, Shaji,” Kiyak said reassuringly.  “If you let me look at it for a few moments, perhaps we can find a solution together.”

            Bulma nodded, smiling tiredly to her and placing one coolly sweating hand on her shoulder.  Sighing once more, Bulma stepped away from Kiyak’s light and smiled at Iriyon.  Her older, taller friend smiled back and touched her hand.

            “We can complete the device, Shaji, even without the lab on Mizukashi.”

            “And the factory on Ten’rili?  The capsules?  The resistance won’t get very far without the information I had intended on acquiring.  Now that we are half way to Yuki-sei on a Saiya-jin fleet ship, I have doubts, Iriyon...  Perhaps we will never see Geishan again.”

            Iriyon put both of his thickly-skinned hands on her shoulders and squeezed.

“You must believe in our people, Shaji.  If you can get them the Aisu-jin cloaking codes, we will have but a few more steps to take.”

            Bulma put a hand over his and nodded.  With one deep breath, she composed her doubt for the time being and bit back what she thought may have been a well of tears.  They gathered in her throat and made her breath feel thick.  But Bulma was resolved; she would not let her friend see tears now.

            “You are right, Iriyon,” she agreed finally.  She did not look at him though.  Instead she gazed back out into space, wondering how long it would be before her heart looked just like that empty void.  Iriyon’s grip tightened again.

            “If you don’t mind my asking, Shaji,” he began, more quietly so as not to disturb or concern Kiyak.  “You have not been yourself.  Are you well?”

            Bulma wondered at his words.  Had she really been so distant and cold as she felt?  Perhaps her eyes were already starting to look like the void of space.  She looked back at him; Iriyon cocked his head and blinked his wide eyelids.

            “Just tired, Iriyon,” She said definitively.

She thought on her situation for a brief space of time.  She thought of how much she had lost in becoming a slave again, yet how much she had gained in no longer being considered a threat.  But it was in the bargaining that she had lost so much...  So much...

            “Just tired,” Bulma said again, sure of her answer at least, if nothing else.  Iriyon did not need to be burdened by such things.  As she watched him, Iriyon’s ears twitched a bit, and his large black eyes shifted from side to side.

            “They are coming, Shaji.”  He said matter-of-factly.  His voice was tinged, though, with just the slightest bit of fear.  Bulma watched the lab’s electronic door until it slid open.

            Imperial guards entered, destroying the serenity of the lab and Kiyak’s quiet concentration.  Bulma’s eyes narrowed, and she released Iriyon’s hand as it fell from her shoulder.  The guard who had entered first eyed her from head to toe and smirked.

            “Bulma-kalzan,” he addressed her using her old title.  It meant nothing more than “slave”, and even Raditsu had called her that, all those years she had lived in his house—lain in his bed.  Bulma blinked and folded her hands together.

            “You are being summoned by His Highness Vejiita-Zarshi.  Would you accompany me?”

            Ignoring the quiet, nearly imperceptible chuckles of the guard and his comrades Bulma patted the back of Iriyon’s hand, barely noting the difference between the soft pads of her fingers and his hard, scaly skin.  It was strangely more comforting than the humanoid appearance of the Saiya-jin.  Bowing her head slightly, Bulma nodded.

            “Suukah,” she said in acknowledgement of his rank.  _It would not have been so less than a week ago, you monkey bastard!_

She turned to Kiyak and smiled at her.  The young female nodded and sat back down in front of the unfinished containment device.  Squeezing Iriyon’s hand, Bulma left his side and followed the Saiya-jin guard out of the lab.  They surrounded her as she exited the doorway.  It was as though their very bodies were her prison.

 

#

 

The halls of the fleet ship were a bit warmer than the lab; the lab needed to be kept cooler to keep their plasma stock at bay.  Bulma tugged at the harsh material of her linen tunic.  _Kami-gami!_   What she wouldn’t give for her satiny gowns and dresses on Mizukashi.  Even the soft, cotton-like material of her Saiya-jin dress had been better than this _slave_ garb.

But her pride would not make way for much else than this degradation.  It would be worse to beg for her title to be restored:  especially to Brolli.  She wondered briefly where he was; she had not seen him since they’d left abruptly for Yuki-sei, and would not admit openly that she was curious about his whereabouts.  He had not called for her since the day he’d made her a slave.  And even after her tryst with Vejiita, she had not given the prince her answer as to whether or not she would be willing to let him become her owner.  He had been surprisingly complacent since then, and it unnerved her.

And even now, standing outside his chamber, Bulma had reservations.  For no matter how gentle he had seemed, no matter how adequate and considerate of a lover he had been, Vejiita was still Saiya-jin.  And the mere fact of his ancestry was enough for her distrust.  The guard in front of her touched the call button on the ID pad.  There was a soft _blip_ , and Vejiita’s voice came drifting through.

“ _Shallan_ ,” he said, denoting his high rank.  Bulma shuddered involuntarily at the sound of his voice; lately she found great distress in how he affected her.

“ _Suukah_ ,” the guard replied, “I have brought the slave Bulma, Zarshi-kalan.”

Vejiita did not reply, he only entered his code and the door whooshed open.  Bulma breathed deeply; the air from Vejiita’s chamber was abnormally fresh compared to most of the ship.  The guards around her saluted and bowed dutifully.  Vejiita was at his desk, tapping on a vid screen, and he lifted only a gloved hand to wave them away.

Somewhere, deep in her chest, Bulma was devastated by the apathy in his action.  But pride had numbed her deepest emotion long ago; she swallowed hard and bit back the flood.  The guards were leaving, and she stood at the doorway, gazing intently into Vejiita’s chambers with all the hate she could muster.  Vejiita stopped tapping and looked up.  He laughed once; it was a cruelly sarcastic noise.

“You look like _Kalahd’Nihr_ , the blood goddess,” he said amusedly.  Bulma bit her tongue to keep from telling him that she would gladly take a sacrifice in the goddess’s name.  He stood and stepped away from his marble-like desk.

“Well,” Vejiita said with a curiously inviting tone, “won’t you come in?”

Bulma waited.  It would be better for him to think that she was not yet as obedient as he would have her.  But, she did cross both hands behind her back then, and step over the threshold of the doorway.  Sensing that she had moved, the beam _blipped_ softly out and the door slid shut behind her.

Vejiita came toward her without hesitation, and Bulma realized very suddenly how uncomfortable his forwardness made her.  She stiffened involuntarily, and her eyes widened.  Vejiita smiled, and his eyebrows arched reflexively.

“ _Shall’la_ , you are oddly beautiful when you’re frightened,” he said, with an irritating lilt of sensuality.  And anyway, she wasn’t frightened, she--!

Vejiita stretched one arm behind his back, and held the other out toward her, palm facing up.  The gesture was rather submissive, Bulma thought.  Vejiita cocked his jaw to the side and said, “You know I won’t hurt you.”

“Do I?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to put some trust in others, _Shall’la_.”

“Why should I?”  She snapped, unable to control the shake in her voice.  Bulma wanted to curse.  Vejiita smiled handsomely and stepped away from her.  He headed toward his desk.

“I suppose you have your reasons,” he said softly.  There was a pause, and he seemed to be contemplating as he sat back in his chair looking at her.  “I hear you’ve been working quite a bit, occasionally late into the night.”

“How would you know that?  You haven’t seen me for three days.”

“Does that matter?”  Vejiita shrugged and folded both hands on his lap.  “Surely, you aren’t putting yourself out so much for the Empire?”

There was a period of silence again until Bulma thought he realized that she would not answer.  It seemed that he would not press the issue further, thank the gods. She was nearly too tired to think of excuses now, anyway.  Absurdly, the sight of Vejiita’s oval-shaped, and very large bed was making her eye lids blink heavily.

“All for the glory of the Saiya-jin, Zarshi-kalan,” Bulma said airily.

Whether or not Vejiita could sense her indifference, Bulma did not know.  But he did smile knowingly and bowed his head before standing again and coming back to her.  As always, his stance demanded more respect than did his height or build.

Vejiita was built just like Brolli, or any other Saiya-jin; he was strong and rock solid.  He had broad shoulders and wide palms, long fingers and legs as sturdy as tree trunks.  But Vejiita was shorter than warriors like Raditsu and Brolli by several inches.  And he was shorter even than his father, the king, who only bested Bulma in height by about five inches.  Vejiita’s shoulders barely inched past hers - but Bulma found that in all her time with these human-like beasts, Vejiita was the only one of them who had managed to frighten her as he did.  But she would never admit that to him, or let him see it.

“The glory of the Saiya-jin,” Vejiita repeated what she had said only moments before.  He chuckled softly:  sadly.

And then he lifted a gloved hand to her face.  Bulma found that she did not like the armor as much as she had when she’d first seen it.  The traditional clothes suited him much better.  And besides, the armor made him look like the war-hungry animal she knew him to be.  But the material of his glove was soft, skin-like, when it touched her skin.  She had not expected that.

Bulma became aware that Vejiita’s mouth was very close to her cheek - so close that she could feel his breath.  He kissed her once, gently, and then used his other hand to lift her chin.  He pressed his lips firmly on the throbbing point of her pulse and breathed out heavily.  The gesture was so consuming that Bulma began to feel eaten alive.  Her pulse sped up considerably, and she felt a rush of blood in her throat.  She began to feel as though he could kill her at any moment, but would he?

Vejiita stopped kissing her neck and leaned into her ear.  His hand dropped to her waist and finally to the dip in her back.

“You can’t imagine how I want you, _Shall’la..._ ”

“You had me before,” Bulma whispered in reply.  “You can have me again.”  To her surprise, she knew that she was more than willing.  Because what did it matter?  He could fuck her until the stars fell...  As long as she could get what she needed from him, none of it mattered.  Bulma was startled to find that Vejiita was gripping her chin very tenderly.  He turned her face back so that she was looking right at him.

“You’re right of course,” he said plainly.  She saw his lips dancing to the tune of that old song - the one where he would tell her that he could have anything he wanted...  Instead though, Vejiita smiled rather warmly and stepped away from her.

“Go to see Brolli.  It would be good for you,” he paused and headed back toward his desk, “and good for him.”

Vejiita sat down and resumed his study of the material on his desktop.  Bulma was horrified to see that his expression was somewhat disappointed.  She stood, transfixed, in the spot where he had left her.  Desperately, she tried to see his motive, and she surfaced from her dive empty-handed.  How he infuriated her!  Bulma crossed the room slowly until she was standing by his chair.  The Prince did not move.

She reached out and touched the papers in front of him, noting that they were schematics of Aisu-jin star rovers.  He was memorizing them in order to know specific targets, no doubt; so that he knew exactly where to fire a ki blast.  Bulma pushed them up toward the tip of the desk and out of his vision.

Vejiita lifted his head, but still he did not look at her.  She reached out to him and laid a cool hand on his shoulder - dragged it to the dip of his collar bone.

“What do you want from me?”  She asked him.  Bulma traced a line from the crook of his neck, across the silky spandex to the collar of his chest plate.  “You didn’t summon me here for nothing.”

“I summoned you here because you haven’t given me an answer, _Bulma-kalzan_.”  Vejiita said suddenly.

He stood so that he was facing her again, and so that she would feel intimidated, no doubt.  Bulma did her best to hide the tremble of her lips.  His face was difficult to read... She did not like that at all.  His brow arched and he caught the side of her face in his large hand.

“You can’t drag me around on a string like you did the Aash’an Raditsu,” he told her.  “You managed to bring the greatest of my race to his knees, Bulma...  You made the Kassha’hal mad with desire for you, haven’t you had your fill of deceit--?”

When he stopped, clearly, he looked as though he hadn’t meant to say any of it.  Bulma gazed at him, brow creased with uncertainty and frustration.  Vejiita was making a play of this, surely, she thought.  Her eyes scanned his for signs of dishonesty, but when she could find nothing - not even sincerity - she realized suddenly that she was now in a more perilous position than she had ever imagined.  Allowing herself to be seduced by Vejiita-Zarshi was now probably the largest mistake she had made yet.

But Bulma did not know now what she must do.  She had _always_ known just what to do, ever since her decision to seduce Raditsu!  Her palms sweat with anticipation; _what_ was his motive?  There must be one!  For he was right, she thought.  She would not be able to wrap him round her finger as she had done the others.  And so what did he want... What did he want--!

Vejiita reached out to grab her waist and take her flush against him.  He bent to kiss her, and Bulma took both sides of his face in her hands.  When he stopped, her heart raced ever faster.  Still, she could see nothing in his eyes - nothing!  Not even real desire!

“Come into House Vejiita, Bulma.  There, you will forget that you are a slave!  I can make it so that you never want for anything.”

“I don’t understand you,” Bulma hissed finally.  “I don’t understand you!  What is it you need from me?  There is _something_ , isn’t there?  You can’t just want _me_ , you can’t just want my loyalty or my promises!  What is it you want--!”

Bulma gasped with the desperate caress of his hand as he spread his fingers wide over her stomach and finally over the gentle curves of her breasts.  He touched her with that same gentleness as he had the first time; it was as though the very action brought him joy.  The thought of this brought her back to Chikyuu, and it terrified her.

His hand came to a slow stop, and as he watched her Vejiita’s mouth closed into a soft frown.  His eyes were half-lidded.  Still, nothing...  Bulma swallowed the great ball of fiery sorrow and fury in her throat.

“You are so convinced of my villainy that perhaps it is better for you to remain Brolli’s slave.  You don’t know it, but you’ve become just like him.”  He said.  Bulma blinked at his words.  He released her and subsequently looked away.  “Do as I told you and go to him.”

Vejiita went to his desk and pressed his palm to the communicator.

“ _No!_ ”  Bulma was shocked to hear the desperation in her voice when she called out to him.

“Suukah,” the voice on the other end said.  When Vejiita made no answer, the officer on the other end said, “Zarshi-kalan?”

Vejiita watched her for a moment, apparently judging what he should do next.  Bulma was unsure why she had stopped him and was implicitly horrified by her unpredictability.  All this time...  Control was all that mattered!  All the time she had spent perfecting it must not go to waste.  So why was it slipping from her fingers now!

 “It’s nothing,” Vejiita told the communicator, “shallan.”

Once there was silence, Bulma felt the blood rising in her ears again.  No!  She could not break; not now, she could not break when there was so much at stake for her - for the Mizuka-jin.  It did not matter how much she wanted to...

Vejiita was facing her again.  He crossed both arms over his broad chest and sighed; clearly, he was frustrated.  But what was next, Bulma wondered?  Leave Brolli and become Vejiita’s slave, to what end?  In either case, she was still a slave with no title, no freedom and no access to what she truly needed.  In her mind, Bulma heard his words that night; _I think you know, Bulma, just how different things would be with me..._

“I am patient,” Vejiita said suddenly.  “But even I have my limits.  I’m sure I don’t have to remind you not to test them.”

“I can’t understand why you don’t just take what you want!” Bulma told him.  “You can take it anyway - I don’t need to be your slave!”

Vejiita smiled at her, and to her disgust it was a warm and friendly smile.  It did not look anything like she was used to seeing:  not on his face or any of these monkeys.

“I told you, didn’t I?”  He asked.  The voice was soothing and caressing, like his hands.  “I told you I would make you forget everything you know about Saiya-jin.”  He came to her again, this time with a stance not so intimidating.

“I’ve had you, yes.  But only because you wanted me, too, and who am I to deny you what you want?”  He lingered on the words for a moment before lifting his chin and smiling again.  “I have made _my_ choice, Bulma-kalzan.  It is time for you to make one.”

Vejiita uncrossed his arms and held out one hand to her, palm upward and outstretched.  If she took it now, what would it mean?  Where to go from here?  Bulma felt a cold sweat inch down her spine; how could she be so indecisive now?  She hesitated for a moment, and then lifted her hand to take his.

But Bulma stopped.  Suddenly a lock within her clicked and intensified her feelings of doubt and distrust.  She squinted at Vejiita.

“I--?”  She paused and lowered her hand.  “Allow me to speak with Brolli.  And then I will give you my decision.”

The prince regarded her with some measure of suspicion, and lowered his hand.  _He will say no,_ she thought.  _He is too selfish and possessive; his real motive will be revealed to me in an instant._ Vejiita then shrugged, and his upper lip quirked.  Bulma couldn’t help cocking her head to the side in curiosity as he returned to his desk and pressed the communicator again.

“Very well,” he told her.  The voice came over the intercom again and Vejiita told his officer to come and collect her so that she could be taken to Brolli.

Bulma looked away from him and turned.  How could he have agreed?  She had thought that surely, he would have refused.  Bulma ground her teeth together; was there _anything_ that made sense now?  It seemed that _everything_ she knew no longer made sense, and for the first time in a long time Bulma was afraid.

Vejiita’s gloved hands were touching her shoulders now, and they grazed along her arms until he was gripping them strongly.  But it was not a fierce grip, she realized.  He leaned into her ear and breathed deeply.

“You’ll see how wrong you are, Bulma,” he whispered sadly against her cheek.

When the communicator on his chamber door blipped softly, Bulma stepped away from him.  With ease, he released her.  She did not look back as she headed toward the door to meet the guards.  The door slid open, and the same guards who had escorted her to the quarters were waiting.

“Shaji Bulma?”

Bulma stopped short when she heard him address her in Mizukago.  Her brow furrowed, and she looked back at him with wide, questioning eyes.  Why should he use Mizukago?  _Why?_   How had he discovered her fluency?

“I’ll expect you to keep your word,” he said.  Bulma, unable to stand the look on his face, turned away again and continued out the door, never indicating that she had understood.

The guards gripped her arms and forced her to face the door before it shut.

“Suukah,” she said to Vejiita, slowly in his own language.  The guards echoed her.  He nodded and smiled handsomely.

“Shallan.”

 


	13. Chapter Twelve - Akatkso'lan

**_Akatkso’lan_ **

**“Jealousy”**

 

Bulma seethed as she was lead through the corridors of the ship toward Brolli’s chambers.  She was missing _something_!  There was something Vejiita was hiding from her, and she was sure now that Brolli had played at least a small part in it.  Why shouldn’t he have, after all?  There was no reason for Bulma not to suspect him.  And she would use whatever means she could to extract whatever she needed to hear.  Whatever Vejiita had planned, she thought, she would _never_ be drawn in!  _Never!_

The guards led her on, one of them laid a palm flat on her back every few seconds to keep her moving as quickly as they were.  Bulma wished she had a plasma gun.  She’d blast his guts molten...

In the near distance, she saw a familiar face.  The Aash’an Raditsu and an officer of his were coming from the direction she was headed.  As she passed by them, she noted that Raditsu watched her carefully;  probably Bulma thought, out of all her Saiya-jin lovers, Raditsu knew her the best.  He had always suspected her, and his distaste for that same uncertainty had only heightened since her outright denial of his affections.

Bulma smirked to herself at that; perhaps he was the only Saiya-jin who really understood what she had always wanted from them.  He had been willing to let that go as long as she remained loyal to him, but since the day he had left her on Mizukashi with Brolli, Raditsu had come to know that she would not stop until she had exacted her revenge.

The only thing now that Raditsu seemed not to understand was that she was not weak enough for revenge to be completely out of her reach.  Perhaps he knew how dangerous she was, but he did not know that Bulma was so very resilient.  Raditsu probably believed that she had not the courage or the will to complete so hefty a venture as military resistance.  But he should have changed his mind after the destruction of Vejiita-sei, Bulma mused; even if resistance on Mizukashi had been difficult before now, it would be even easier now that the Saiya-jin had lost many of their resources and most of the battalions that had been stationed on their home planet.

If Bulma could help the Mizuka-jin gain back control of their planet, it would be only a matter of time before other sovereign worlds would follow suit.  And without their celestial mother, the Saiya-jin would be powerless to stop such a revolt.  Bulma had at least that to credit to Furiza and the Aisu-jin, for without their intercession perhaps even Mizukashi would have been a challenge too great for her.

Conceivably then, the two of them - the Aisu-jin and the Saiya-jin both - would subsequently annihilate each other.  The thought brought her a sense of great joy.  Within that joy, though, lay a quiet peal of despair.  For without the Saiya-jin, a far as Bulma knew, her last hope for companionship would be gone.

She had not made any contact with surviving Chikyuu-jin since watching the planet crumble to bits before her.  And she had thus far been unsuccessful in her search for other humanoid life besides the Saiya-jin.  But - well, who needed the beasts, anyhow!  So what if Brolli would be dead and gone forever - so what if Vejiita would - !

Bulma gritted her teeth.  It was time to switch gears in her mind, and rapidly.  They were nearing Brolli’s chamber.

 

#

 

When the doors of Brolli’s chamber swished open, Bulma was assaulted by the scent of him.  It was so strong that she was reminded of how Raditsu’s chambers had always smelled a particular way; and somehow Brolli’s essence was stronger even than the Captain’s.  It almost seemed as though she had a kind of connection with Brolli - volatile though it was.  Though it was not so different than the one she had shared for six years with Raditsu.  She’d like to kill them both with her bare hands, she thought.

The guards declared the usual dignities, but were obligated to bow quite low in the presence of the Kassha’hal; she knew that all too well.  The guards fell to one knee and pressed both palms to the floor.  When Bulma caught his eye, she decided that a bit of insolence wouldn’t hurt.  She did not bow.

Brolli’s eyes were quite vitriolic tonight.  He looked like he needed a fight - Bulma decided that she’d be glad to oblige him.  After the scene the last time they’d met, it seemed only fitting.  One of the guards stood and pressed down hard on the space between her shoulder blades.  Despite that Bulma’s will was much stronger, her body was not.  She grimaced and fell to both knees with the force of the guard’s palm, then watched Brolli’s face as she pressed her palms to the floor.  Finally, with reluctance, she lowered her eyes.

Even though Brolli was light years ahead of other Saiya-jin based solely on his power level, his social standing did not delegate that he respond as Vejiita would.  And so, he only stretched out his palm and faced it downward.  The guards stood.

“What brings you, officer?”  Brolli asked.

Bulma remained on her hands and knees.  She wished she could see his face right now - it would tell her whether or not he had been expecting this.  The officer apologized for his abruptness.

“Forgive me, Kassha’hal.  I was instructed to bring Bulma-kalzan to your chambers.”

“Who gave permission?”  Brolli asked, his voice seemingly full of genuine confusion.

“Vejiita-Zarshi gave permission, Kassha’hal,” the guard paused, “suukah.”

There was a long pause.  Oh, _gods_ how Bulma wished she could see his face!  But she must be patient; now it would take a bit more prodding than she had planned for.  Brolli gave an order for her to stand, and so she did with much effort.  The guard’s pressure on her back had left her with a violent spasm between her shoulders.  Still, Bulma stood proudly:  shoulders back and chest puffed out with determination.  There was a look of slight amusement on Brolli’s face when he ordered the guards away.

Bulma stepped into the chamber without the same hesitation she’d exercised in Vejiita's presence.  She would not let Brolli see that she’d been in a state of near hysteria before coming here; it would please him too much.  Once they were alone, Bulma folded her hands in front of her.

“Suukah, Kassha’hal,” she said to him.  Brolli’s chin rose slightly, and he nodded to her.

“Bulma-kalzan,” he replied, “I don’t remember summoning you.”  There was a lilt in his voice that enraged her, but Bulma muffled her irritation for the time being.  It would not do to engage in verbal combat just yet.

“I haven’t seen you since before we left Mizukashi, _Kassha’hal_ ,” she said, overemphasizing his title.  “I thought that perhaps you rather missed me.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that would matter to you,” Brolli replied curiously.  “Even if I have.”

Bulma smirked.  He had not summoned her for a reason - yes, there must be a reason just as there was a reason for Vejiita’s behavior.  Brolli was not the type to deny himself any of life’s pleasures, and if he loved her as he said he did he would not have summoned just any other concubine to slake his lust upon.  Bulma ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip.  She would test him anyway, just for the fun of it.  It was so easy, after all.

“Perhaps you’ve found another slave to replace me?”  He was approaching her slowly as she spoke.  “I wouldn’t mind you know, I rather enjoy the thought of you mating with a mere concubine.  It suits you, I think, better than I would.”

“And what would you consider yourself, then, Bulma- _kalzan_?”  He asked her; the Saiyago words were deep and gouging; he wanted it that way.

“I am no concubine,” she replied, with confidence “you know that.  You can add titles to my name until the galaxy falls - it wouldn’t mean a thing.  Least of all to you.”

Brolli chuckled airily and came toward her, arms crossed tightly over his powerful chest.  He was holding back quite a lot of emotion, Bulma realized - and it was very difficult for him.  Brolli was not so well-versed in the art of constraint as Vejiita, that at least had always been apparent.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said finally.  He was a few feet from her now, his dark eyes watching her with such intensity that she had to blink.  Brolli reached out to caress the bare skin of her upper arm.

“You look so drab in this, Bulma,” he said amusedly; he stroked the skin with a tenderness that she found unnerving.  “Perhaps I can arrange for a more suitable wardrobe for you.”

“I rather enjoy these clothes,” Bulma lied, “they are more befitting of a woman in my - position.”

Brolli’s delight in her words seemed apparent.

“Indeed,” he replied on the edge of a chuckle.  His fingers traced the line of her shoulder and up to her neck.  “Even in rags, Shall’la, you are implicitly beautiful.”

The touch was disconcertingly warm; his fingertips were literally on fire with ki surge.  The feel of them was almost unbearable, but Bulma remained as calm as she could.  Of course, by now he had smelled Vejiita on her.  Perhaps he would transform again and blow the whole ship to smithereens.  Bulma thought that she would die happy if such a thing were to happen.

“Why did Vejiita-Zarshi send you to me?”  He asked.  He had stopped touching her neck.

“He did not send me, Kassha’hal,” Bulma explained, “I asked to be sent here.”

“His scent is on your breasts and your pressure points, Shall’la,” Brolli said, stunning her with his accuracy.  “Is this some sort of game?”

“Perhaps I should be asking you the same question,” Bulma said pointedly.

Brolli raised an eyebrow.  Bulma could see that he had not totally been unprepared for this, which only heightened her suspicions.  But he was also at a loss for words, and so he had not planned on this meeting:  at least not here, now.  Brolli was now smiling warmly down at her.

“ _Shall’la_ ,” he said, “surely you don’t believe that a mindless, soulless war-monger like me is capable of playing real mind games.”

Bulma’s eyes narrowed; her patience was slowly growing quite thin.  _Gods_ how she wished she were even half as strong as he!  She’d throttle him in his sleep, or better yet, right now - while he was awake so that he could see her.  Bulma stepped forward until she was close enough to feel his aura.

“Let’s stop beating about the bush, shall we?”  She asked him.  Brolli blinked and waited for her to continue.  Bulma gritted her teeth and lifted her chin upward into the line of his gaze.

“You and Vejiita-Zarshi are plotting something.  And I intend to find out what it is, Kassha’hal; you will not outwit me!”  She grew aware that her voice had become a poisonous, hissing whisper.

Brolli was smiling again, only this time it looked sad:  sympathetic.  He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand.

“Your steadfast reasoning is admirable, Bulma-kalzan,” he told her.  His fingertips were still very hot - like little pokers from a hearth.  He bent his head to kiss her and when she turned her mouth away only slightly, in defiance, Brolli groaned disappointedly.

“Are you still so angry with me, _Shall’la_?”  A strong grip settled on her shoulder, and instead he kissed her neck.  “I told you,” he said into her skin, “I’ve only done all of this because I love you...”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Brolli!”  She snapped at him and tried to worm away from his grasp.  Her efforts became futile in seconds, as his other hand came to grip her free shoulder.  “You don’t love me!”  Bulma was shouting now; she had not intended on doing so.  “You’re not capable of it!”

“Am I not?”  He asked.  Brolli looked pleased by her response, and he chuckled.  “You’ll see, Shall’la.”

Bulma felt the tears of frustration growing, as they had the last time she’d been with him.  _Gods be damned, Bulma!   Don’t cry now...!_

“As I told you,” she said calmly, “whatever it is you have in mind for my demise, it won’t work.”  Bulma paused and watched the way his expression twitched imperceptibly under the mask of composure.

“I should - like to take my leave now, Kassha’hal.”  She suddenly despised how weedy and pathetic her words sounded.

Brolli leaned away from her only a bit, and took her hand.  The despair in his eyes was met only with Bulma’s disgust.  _How could she have let things go this far--!_

“If you must,” Brolli said, kissing the palm of her hand.  The gesture was obscenely gallant, and Bulma was nauseated.

Brolli looked up just as the first tear made its way past her cheek.  His brow raised in empathy.  Bulma wanted to scream; she wanted to tear him apart for making such a mess of her nerves - for trying her patience to this breaking point!  She snatched her hand from his and turned away, making for the door and facing only its stark, white façade.  With labored breath, Bulma waited until Brolli had come beside her to unlock the control pad.  When the door slid open, she looked at him.

“Won’t you call the guards?”

Brolli smiled that same smile and reached up to comb his fingers through the river of blue hair cascading down her back.

“I trust you’re not stupid enough to make any mistakes, _Bulma-kalzan_ ,” he said quietly:  purposefully.

Bulma scowled and turned from him, heading north down the corridor and away from his quarters - away from the aura that seemed to burn with a pungently evil passion.  Is this what she had created in him, Bulma thought as she rushed back toward the north wing?  Had she been the one to instill this malicious obsession in Brolli’s psyche?  Had she engraved her bitterness so deeply in him that even she had not realized the outcome?

The sudden understanding made Bulma choke.   She stumbled clumsily down the corridor, clutching at the neck of her tunic.  Maybe if she tugged hard enough, her throat would open again?

Bulma stopped abruptly before the turn into the north wing.  She watched the floor and struggled frantically to keep her balance - her sanity; the floor was dancing.  What would she do now, she wondered?  What would Brolli and Vejiita _want_ her to do?  The world spun around her.

But she would not be beaten yet, she thought.  No.  She would not let these monkeys get the best of her until they were all dead and rolling in their graves with her betrayal.  With the last vestiges of her strength, Bulma pushed herself away from the wall and turned toward the south corridor instead of the north.  She made her way back toward Vejiita’s chamber; the way was lonely and frightening.

Once she was there and standing in the cool, dry air of the hallway Bulma slammed her palm down on the COM unit.  She expected the sing-song tone of his voice to float through the unit, but instead the door opened without pretense.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” Vejiita said.  He was still seated at his desk, where she had found him before.  He looked up and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, come in, don’t just stand out there.”  He sounded so amused that Bulma hesitated on her way in.

“What is it you want?”  She asked as the door slid shut.  “The schematics for my plasma equalizers, commissioned by your father?  The calculations I’ve made for the plasma containment?  You can’t just want me; you have other motives and you know that I can see them.”

Vejiita stood and crossed both hands behind his back.  His eyes were full of mirth.

“All this from a conversation with Brolli?”

“Shut up!”  Bulma felt her anger nearly cascade over the well of her control.  “Answer my question.”

Vejiita paused for a very long moment and watched her carefully.  The knowing smirk on his face had faded, and he leaned against his desk.  The solid material of his armor creaked in the deafening silence.  He crossed his arms.

“Whatever it is you’ve been working on late at night, Bulma; I want it.”  He stopped, watching for her reaction.  Bulma tried not to let the shock look apparent on her face.

“You ask me not to underestimate you,” Vejiita continued, “and I ask that you do the same for me.  The Saiya-jin did not become the most aggressive and dominant force in the Videon using merely brute force, Bulma, and we are not as stupid as you believe--or as stupid as you want to believe.

“You cannot keep secrets from my father for long, at least not without my help.”  He stopped again and held out his hand the way he had earlier.  His palm faced upward, seemingly harmless--innocuous.  This time, though, Bulma stepped toward him.

Before she could stop herself she had taken his hand, and his fingers closed around hers with a possessiveness that clouded the honesty in his mouth.  She watched him, carefully, and rested her other palm on his thigh.

“Release me from slave status,” she told him matter-of-factly.

“I’ve already told you, I can’t.”

“You can, damn you!”  Bulma hissed, digging her fingers into the battle suit.  “You’re a prince!”

Vejiita smirked from the corner of his mouth and examined the contours of her face.

“Even if I could,” he said, “I wouldn’t.  Your citizenship is too fragile a commodity even for Brolli.  Do you imagine that I would endanger what remains of my empire more than he already has?”

There was silence again until Vejiita sighed.  Bulma waited, wordless, digging for her next bargaining chip.  Not even her body would work this time, she thought; she had already made a mistake in going too far with him.

“I asked you before,” he said finally.  “Come to the Royal House and I will give you whatever you need-- _whatever you need_.”  He leaned forward to whisper against her lips.  “And you can never be taken from the royal servant quarter; no authority in the galaxy could do that.  Not even Brolli’s.”

Bulma’s jaw clenched in determination.

“Then make it so.”

 


	14. Chapter Thirteen - Asufaru'ka

**_Asufaru’ka_ **

**“Rebel”**

The edge of the Saiya-jin warship _Kuraoh_ was slowly illuminated as it approached Yuki-sei.  The Aisu-jin planet’s atmosphere soared high above its surface, though the planet itself was smaller even than Chikyuu, and it glimmered brightly:  visible from precisely one light-year away.  The composition of its atmosphere, Bulma discovered, was roughly similar to that of Chikyuu with slightly more carbon dioxide.  This accounted for the heaviness she had felt in Furiza’s ship.

Yuki-sei was also about one hundred fifty million miles from its sun, producing a realm of ice and snow that disinterested, or rather averted, most invaders from ideas of occupation.  After all, who wanted an ice-box of a planet with little to no sunlight?  Who would be able to live under such adverse conditions but the Aisu-jin themselves?  But, Bulma mused as she gazed out her chamber window, the Saiya-jin were not here to occupy or even to invade.  They were here to purge - as they had done to Chikyuu those five years ago.  And if the Aisu-jin could not produce a convincing enough argument that they were not responsible for Vejiita-sei’s destruction, well… The Saiya-jin would do it.

Bulma watched _Kuraoh_ approach to the left of the mother ship she had occupied on the journey here.  _Kuraoh_ was aptly named:  a Saiya-jin word meaning “conquer”.  And she could not see the other ships from here but from what Vejiita had told her, the _Kuraoh_ and the _Shujya’nehm_ \- meaning exalted son - would be the first ships to lead the attack on Yuki-sei if war commenced.

Each one contained five battalions of warriors who were ready, and more than willing, to begin the purge.  It would only take one warrior, Vejiita had said, to destroy Yuki-sei.  With one finger any Saiya-jin warrior with a strength level of over fifty-thousand could turn a planet three times the size of Yuki-sei into a burned out cinder.  But the idea was to conquer, not just to purge; Yuki-sei was far more precious an article of trade for boosting the morale of the Saiya-jin.  Bulma had been tempted to ask Vejiita if they’d still be able to do it were she to slice all of their fingers off.

But she hadn’t, Bulma realized as she hugged both arms around her bare arms.  Her waning aggression of late had even begun to stir suspicion in the King, who had been her unwavering supporter from the beginning; oblivious monkey that he was.  Bulma’s brow furrowed, and she turned from the window to search for her discarded tunic.

She slid the softer material of the clothing Vejiita had acquired for her over her thermal body suit.  That had also been a gift from Vejiita; she would come to treasure it, he’d told her, as her body would begin to tolerate the coldness of space less and less.  She had not told him that before reaching Vejiita-sei for the first time, the Saiya-jin had nearly left her to freeze in her bunk cell.  The quarters she occupied now were warm as Mizukashi in comparison.

Bulma sat wearily at her new desk.  On it were thousands of notes she’d kept in preparation for the rebellion; still she had not thrown them away - still she had hope.  And the last time she had spoken with Iriyon, it seemed as though the Mizuka-jin had not given up hope either.  Bulma sighed and drew a finger over rough schematics she had drawn herself:  concept drawings and plans for her plasma rifle, the cannons and even the encapsulation devices.  All of them had been a success, and the cannon had been only days away from completion when she’d been ordered to Yuki-sei.  Since losing communication with her contacts on Ten’rili, Bulma had no way of knowing if it would be finished or not.  She prayed to return to Mizukashi, though to whom she did not know.

Her communication panel blipped, and Bulma quickly covered her evidence.  On top of it, she threw dozens of notes on Saiya-jin lung structure:  another project she had undertaken for the King in order to help her better understand how their bodies would react to the conditions on Yuki-sei.  So far, it seemed that Saiya-jin lungs could process nearly every breathable element on the table.  Was it even impossible to poison the beasts, Bulma fretted?

She stood as the key sequence to her door was entered.  It was Vejiita; only he knew the codes and had not even given them to his father.  The door slid open, revealing the face she expected.  He came into the room without pretense and armed only, as it seemed, with that damnably handsome smile.  There was something strange about the way he had courted her, as it were.  Bulma thought that even Brolli had not been so utterly unreadable:  so completely mysterious.  Something about Vejiita’s eyes was different.  Something frightening...

“We’re about to make contact with the Aisu-jin mother ship,” he said matter-of-factly.  He was pulling the white gloves of his battlesuit off by each individual finger.  “I expect we’ll be ‘negotiating’ within the hour,” he paused and tossed both gloves on her desk as he came to her.

Vejiita’s eyes shut slowly, and his chin rose into the air with the graceful movement of a cat.  He inhaled deeply.  Bulma’s palms closed tightly over the edge of her desk; what in all the gods’ names had come over her?  Could it be possible that she was afraid of him, even now, even after all that had happened--!

“ _Ah, Shall’la_ ,” he whispered, his voice generous with worship.  “You smell marvelous.”  Vejiita’s eyes opened, and he tilted his chin downward.  “If only you knew what the scent of fear does to my sex-drive.”

“I do, Zarshi-kalan,” Bulma said after a moment.

The past week with him had proved that much at least.  His love-making had not grown just more intense, she thought, but more dominant.  To her dismay, though, she always found herself shaking like a cowering bitch-cub in the wake of his desire; often times Bulma found that his quiet, sing-song reassurance in the afterward calmed her terror.

“Perhaps you do,” Vejiita said finally.

His thumb came to trace the outline of her bottom lip.  He pressed it into her chin lightly and pushed it upward until her throat was bared at a slight angle.  Vejiita’s fingers trailed downward, lingering at her pulse for just a breath before he was touching the high collar of her tunic.  Without warning his hand slid all the way down to her waist, and then onto the desk behind her.  His body was pressed to hers, every inch of it but for his lips touched her.  Vejiita’s forehead moved gently against hers when he breathed in.

“Why are you afraid of me, Bulma?”  He asked.  Bulma’s blood-pressure plummeted.  Any moment she would surely lose consciousness, she was sure of it.  Blinking, Bulma gripped the desk behind her even harder.

“Because it pleases my _ka’fuu_ ,” she replied uneasily.  Bulma placed pungent emphasis on the Saiya-jin word for ‘master’ to make it sound more respectful, more _indulgent._   Vejiita chuckled deep in his throat.

“What a clever answer,” he growled amusedly.  Vejiita kissed her once, deeply with his tongue and lingered on her top lip.  “You are unaccustomed to pleasing Saiya-jin royalty, is all,” he said, pushing away from her.  “You will grow used to it, in time.”

Vejiita sighed deeply then, took his gloves from the desk and turned away.  He headed toward her bed which was admittedly more lavish and inviting than the one she’d made for herself in the lab.  His distance was a bit more reassuring, Bulma told herself; the further he was from her notes, the better.  He already knew too much...

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for a war, Zarshi-kalan?”  She asked.  “Why have you come here?”

“I want you to be at the negotiation, Bulma-kalzan,” Vejiita said unceremoniously as he sat on the edge of her bed.  He leaned on his knees and pressed his chin into his hands.  Bulma stared at him perplexedly.

“What has a slave to offer the Empire?”  She wondered aloud at him.  It seemed she had not lost all of her will.  “Do you believe I would negotiate in your favor?  You really have overextended your trust threshold, have you not--?”

Something in his eyes made her stop:  something she had never seen in Brolli’s eyes, or even in Raditsu’s.  It was a promise, Bulma decided.  There was a promise in his gaze that went beyond threat; it was wholly lethal in itself.  He never did threaten with words, though.  Only with a look - a glare of absolute contempt for her disobedience.  Bulma looked away.

“Bulma,” Vejiita’s voice was a mere fraction above a whisper, “come here.”

Bulma shut her eyes and breathed out deeply; this would not end with a simple apology.  She moved toward him and kept her eyes fixed on the floor.  Vejiita’s hand was extended toward her now, it waited for her compliance; nothing else would do.  As she took it, he did not force her so much as guide her to her knees before him.  He cupped her cheeks in both hands and caressed her skin with a tenderness so unexpected that Bulma shivered.

“You’ll do it, Bulma, because I am asking you to.  I am not forcing you, though I could.  You understand that, don’t you?”

“Whose brilliant design is this?”  Bulma hissed in reply.  “Brolli’s?  Yours?”

Vejiita chuckled at that.

“You are always so quick to assume that there is some greater evil to my plans, aren’t you?  Won’t you trust my judgment this once?”

“Trust?”  Bulma whispered the word with longing.  “Your kind burned it out of me years ago.”  He startled her by kissing her forehead.

“Then let me rekindle it, won’t you?”  He asked.  “I do hate the look of bitterness in your eyes.”

The Saiyago words on his tongue were different, somehow, than the way most of his kind spoke.  They were softer, she thought, and slower.  He spoke with a tenor of nobility that Bulma assumed must be a kind of elite speech; there were even times when she barely understood him.  A note within it made her bones quiver.

Bulma exhaled on the breath she’d been holding.  Trust, she wondered?  Was Vejiita really so naïve of her intentions, or was he insisting on this in order to trap her and prove his superiority once and for all?  Vejiita’s eyebrow was arched expectantly; he was waiting.

“You leave me with no choice,” she told him, “how can it be that you are not forcing me?”

Vejiita smirked, and his hands left the flushing surface of her cheeks.  He stood and reached for his gloves.

“You know you have no choice because you will not say ‘no’.  If you really were averted to being at the negotiation, Bulma, I would not force you to go.  You know that...”  He slid one glove on his hand, and then the other.  The latter paused in the air as he gazed at her, and finally crouched to her eye level.

“You wouldn’t want to displease me anyway, would you?”

“Threats, Zarshi-kalan?”  Bulma’s smirk matched his from only a moment ago.

“It’s the only thing you understand, after all this time.”

“Perhaps only because the Saiya-jin reputation for cruelty precedes you.”  Bulma spat.

Vejiita smiled; this time it was not a smirk.  He stood and chuckled airily.

“Ah, Bulma-kalzan.  You’ve no conception of true cruelty, I assure you.  Not the kind I am capable of.”

Without another word, Vejiita turned from her and made his way to the door.  Bulma remained by the side of her bed, horribly at a loss for words and admittedly terrified by his response.  The door slid open, and Vejiita paused in the archway.

“The guard will escort you when the time comes.  I hope you’ll have taken what time you have to brush up on your Aisugo.”

 

#

 

Brolli stood patiently by the air vent at dock fifteen.  The cool air was cascading over his bare chest and rustling the velvet hair on his coiled tail.  He brought his arms closer to his chest and squeezed his fists together.  The guards near him became more alert each time he shifted, as though his very movement startled them into awareness.  After all, Brolli had left his chambers nearly half an hour ago and had been waiting here ever since.

There was movement down the corridor to his left, and round the corner he could see Prince Vejiita approaching with some of his elite guard.  The prince looked singularly self-satisfied, if that was the way to word the expression on his face.  Brolli sneered at his approach.

“You look like you’ve been sparring, Zarshi-kalan.”

“I have,” he replied wryly, “with your Blue Goddess.  Though, as I told her, a more appropriate comparison would be _Kalahd’Nihr_.”

Brolli huffed irritably.

“She is a champion sparring partner, is she not?” He said, and sparks of his aura panged painfully into the heels of his folded hands.

“Indeed,” Vejiita replied, “in more ways than one, yes?  You seem a bit edgy, _Kassha’hal_.  Do I sense jealousy?”

“You might,” Brolli snapped, “I told you before she was mine.  This little game of yours is lasting much longer than you made it seem, don’t you think?”

“And I told you before, Kassha’hal:  that female is no one’s.  You must learn to accept this or everything we’ve done thus far will be for naught.”

“What exactly _have_ we done?”  Brolli wondered aloud.  The boom of his voice startled even the guards, who eyed him warily before he tightened his arms about his chest and growled.  “We are no further along than when we started!”  He hissed more quietly.

“You think so only because you have not seen her as I have,” Vejiita explained hastily.  He paused to lower his voice.  “You should see her in the throes of fear and dread when I mate with her, _Kassha’hal._   It would do you good.”

Brolli snarled in reply and felt the tiny, fine hairs on his tail stand on end.  Gods, what he wouldn’t give to rip that vain little smirk from Vejiita’s face!  The chuckle afterward did nothing to calm his rage.

“I would rather watch a myr cat mate,” he said in Vejiita’s ear.  The prince’s vanity ruffled only slightly.  Brolli took secret delight in even that small victory.  “Besides,” he continued, “you know nothing about her involvement with the resistance anymore than you did weeks ago, in the beginning.”

In that moment, the King’s party turned the corner at the end of the corridor.  It was followed closely by another train of guards, who contained none other than the Blue Goddess herself.  Brolli’s lips parted only slightly with his disbelief, until he shut them quickly to avoid embarrassment.

She walked with the same grace she’d had since the moment he’d seen her on Mizukashi with Raditsu; Bulma had lost none of her pride, despite whatever Vejiita had seen in her.  For it was either her pride, or an exceptional talent for a guise of it that gave her the stride of a princess.  Brolli thought that perhaps it may be both.

“We’ll see about my knowledge _and_ yours, Kassha’hal,” Vejiita said finally.

Brolli looked down on him with the regard he would give the small myr cat he mentioned moments ago.  His eyes were drawn to the king though, and he pressed his palms together in salute.  The guards around him repeated the action.

“ _Jya’nehm_ ,” Vejiita-Zarshon said to his son, “I am not sure this is prudent.”  He meant Bulma’s presence.  Surely, even a third-class moron could see that.  The King’s voice was just above an enraged whisper.

But the prince only grinned:  with private victory no doubt, thought Brolli.  He wondered what must have taken place - what Vejiita must have had to offer Bulma in exchange for her presence at the negotiations.  The thought only made him angrier, even as he tried focusing on more important matters.

“You do not have faith in my most trusted _kalzan_ , Father?”  Vejiita asked of him.  Brolli saw Bulma’s eyelids narrow; even now the sound of _kalzan_ made her cringe.

“It is not a question of my faith,” the King replied, “but rather a question of her safety, Vejiita.  You do _remember_ , don’t you?  You do know who we are negotiating with.”

“Of course, Father,” the prince said rather easily.  “But Bulma-kalzan is more proficient than you or I in Aisugo.  I thought that, perhaps, since our friend Furiza is so averted to speaking our distinguished tongue that we might rely on her for more accurate interpretations.”

Brolli had to contain the bubble of awkward laughter that threatened to crawl from his throat.  His body made a slight start instead, and he gazed at Bulma with a great measure of shock.  He had expected to find a look of self-righteousness on her face, but rather found that she looked as stunned as he.  What the hell was Vejiita trying to pull?  The Prince was chuckling again:  that infernal sound!

“Ah, Bulma-kalzan,” he said, “don’t be so modest.  I’ve heard you practicing in your chambers.  She has quite a propensity for learning languages don’t you think, Kantak?”  He glanced up at his father.

The King, for the first time Brolli noted, regarded Bulma with confusion.  The prince still smiled, harboring his secret victory - whatever it may be.  Bulma folded her hands together in front of the soft mauve tunic she wore.

“I - I thought it only prudent, Your Highness.  Naturally, as this conflict continues to run deeper we must be prepared in all ways.”

Brolli had never seen her at such a loss for words.  He was filled suddenly with near pity as he recalled Vejiita’s words only moments before.  Indeed something, though small and more or less indistinct, had changed about her.  Yet it was not a good change, Brolli thought.  Some part of what he had fallen in love with was lost forever to her.  He recalled now what Vejiita had said to him at the beginning of this little game; _I am more ruthless and twice as unforgiving as she is, Kassha’hal, and I will tear her soul apart until she has not the will to fight me any longer!_

“A wise conclusion, indeed, Bulma-kalzan.”  The King’s voice snapped Brolli out of his thoughtful reverie.  The king still seemed a bit puzzled by his son’s confession, yet he looked away from her and began to address the rest of them.

“Very well,” he began, “yet as most of you here know we intend these negotiations only to be a formality.  Any time that we can waste distracting the Aisu-jin while we prepare for our assault will aid our endeavor.  Our back up squads are preparing the _Kei-jal’a_ as we speak, so it would do us some good to keep Aisu-jin attention away from the _Kuraoh._ ”

Brolli saw that Bulma’s face had twisted with incomprehension.  It was not often that she did not understand what was being said to her; as Vejiita had put it she had a remarkable affinity for foreign language.  But he could see now that Bulma had never heard of the _Kei-jal’a_ , and she was afraid of this ignorance.

The _Kei-jal’a_ were special devices used by the Saiya-jin for more years than Brolli had been alive.  Yes, he recalled, even before his ascension the Saiya-jin had used the devices to produce a replication of Vejiita-sei’s moonlight in order to transform into the mighty _Oozaru_.  They also aided and amplified the use of ki in a general sense.  Brolli could see Bulma’s mind translating the words.  The look of incomprehension disappeared.

There was an alarm-like sound coming from the entrance doors.  The Aisu-jin fleet ship was docking.

 

#

 

“I did not know Saiya-jin _zalak-sha_ _rilak_ so hospitable...!”

Vejiita’s ears perked with the sound of Aisu-jin speech.  He did not recognize all of the words, but he knew enough to hear the sarcasm in them.  The sound made him snarl under his breath, and although the slimy lizards had probably not heard it the other Saiya-jin had.  One of Vejiita’s guards chuckled softly at his obvious sign of disapproval, and Vejiita saw that the newly arrived Raditsu was also grinning.

The Aisu-jin guards were forming a semi-circle about twenty feet from where the Saiya-jin stood, waiting with arms and palms tense like livewire.  Bulma was further forward than they, only by a few feet, and Vejiita waited for the moment when Furiza exited his cold, icy hell of a ship.

He waited for Furiza’s reaction to Bulma, and likewise for any changes in Bulma’s scent.  Frustration boiled in him, though; he could not decide which would be more satisfying:  to see that there had been an alliance between the Mizuka-jin and the Aisu-jin all along and to know that Bulma had been a force behind it, or to put such a possibility far from his mind.  Vejiita had grown rather fond of the way Bulma’s eyes looked when she was not angry or bitter...

Vejiita ground his teeth together.  There was an Aisu-jin elite guard raising his arm.  Every Saiya-jin tensed for a brief moment, until the brutish animal started to speak.

“Furiza-lak will enter now,” the apparent male declared.  Gods help him, but Vejiita could never quite discern the sex of any of the bastards just by looking at one.  The guard lowered his palm and pointed with a powerful arm toward Bulma.  “Who is the blue one?  She is no Saiya-jin!”

Several of Vejiita’s comrades waited dazedly for an interpretation.  Vejiita stepped forward just a couple of paces; he was warned from going further with an imperceptible shift in his father’s ki.

“She is Bulma:  a servant of Vejiita-sei’s royal house.  She will serve as interpreter.”  Vejiita told him.

The elite guard sneered.  His sharp teeth gleamed brightly in the artificial light only for a split second before reddish ooze crept through them.  He licked it off of his blood red lips.  Vejiita’s stomach did flip flops, and he was sure that he heard some of the others make soft sounds of discontent.

“Vejiita-sei.”  Someone chuckled.  The voice came from the docking ramp of the Aisu-jin ship.  Vejiita had heard it one or two times before, and by now Raditsu surely knew it well enough to have nightmares of it.

His voice was like the slow keening of a dying animal:  a wail of desperate realization.  But it was not a sad sound, no.  It really was the opposite.  So much mirth danced in that bastard’s voice that it was difficult to distinguish one emotion from the next.  Furiza did not sound like a man or a woman, but more like some grotesque combination of the two.  And each time he spoke, the fine hairs on Vejiita’s tail stood on end.

Furiza came out of the bright, cold lights and stepped heavily down the corrugated metal.  His guard followed him closely, and Vejiita could see six or seven other Aisu-jin warriors in pursuit.  Vejiita looked from Bulma to Furiza, from the Aisu-jin emperor back to Bulma.  For a moment, it seemed as though Furiza had hesitated at the sight of her.  Vejiita’s eyes narrowed.

“Vejiita-sei?”  Another slow, murmuring chuckle.  It was almost a moan.    He said something that Vejiita did not understand, but it did not sound polite.  Furiza kept coming toward them, and his comrades chuckled cruelly.

He was ignoring Bulma now, and staring at Vejiita with a cautious contempt.  Furiza spoke again, this time as he did so he crossed both pale, metallic arms over his small but robust chest.  Vejiita wanted to tear his face off; it looked so bloody smug.

Bulma faced the Saiya-jin and took a deep breath.  Vejiita saw that even now, while she held her head high, her nerves were spiking like a fever.  Her deep blue eyes were shimmering with distant fear.

“Furiza asks why you have requested his presence.”  She told them.

Vejiita’s father growled low in his throat and glanced around him.  Raditsu made a slight nod of approval.

“Tell _Furiza_ that we know of his involvement in the destruction of Vejiita-sei; that it is no longer a secret.  We wish to discuss potential alternatives to conflict.  If he can agree to our terms, we can spare the lives of many Aisu-jin citizens.”

Bulma spoke to Furiza, and even Vejiita was now surprised at how proficient she was.  He had spoken the truth when he said he’d heard her practicing in her room, but still her ease and skill with the language startled him.  He wondered how she could possibly say something like it when she knew how preposterous the idea was.

Furiza snarled aloud after Bulma was finished, and Vejiita felt Brolli’s volatile aura surge behind him.  The same, viscous liquid spewed nastily from Furiza’s lips, and the brutal noise turned swiftly to a disgusted chuckle.  He replied, without looking at Bulma, and spoke at length.  When Bulma turned back to the Saiya-jin, she looked uncertain.

“Do not fear the words,” Vejiita told her, “they are not your own.”  But, Vejiita thought, deep down inside Bulma’s soul she would have loved to say the same.  She nodded to him, and though there was no expression on her face now, there was an odd sort of contempt in her eyes.

“Furiza asks why you think him so stupid.  He says that he would be a fool to think that you would negotiate for Aisu-jin favor, or that you would be a fool for trying.”

There was a good amount of chuckling from the Saiya-jin in response to this.  Vejiita himself couldn’t help the mirth in his belly.  Alas, how were any of them to respond?  Furiza had proven his intelligence right then and there, yet still a pretense must be maintained until preparations were complete.

“Please tell Furiza,” the king said finally, “that we do not mean to insult his intelligence.”  He paused and looked amused, the way a child does when it picks up its first toy.  “Tell him that our terms are simple and that, given the Aisu-jin crimes already committed, he should be obliged to accept.”

Vejiita saw Bulma’s jaw tighten.  Something about her scent was not right, and he wondered if anyone else (particularly Brolli) could tell.  Despite that, she turned again to the Aisu-jin freaks and spoke.  With his small knowledge of the barbaric language, Vejiita could tell that she had said what his father had wanted; she would be foolish anyway to have tried differently.

There was a moment of silence during which Vejiita wondered if the lizard had understood Bulma.  But he quickly discerned that all the Aisu-jin had understood, and that they merely looked shocked at the idea of compliance.  Vejiita saw Furiza’s purple-black eyes shift toward him; the Aisu-jin lord squinted and breathed in deeply.  On the exhale, Furiza snarled again as he had before.  This time, though, it sounded more delighted that it ought to.

“Saiya-jin ought to be more polite,” Furiza said abruptly in heavily accented Saiyago.  He shook a finger at them.

Every warrior that Vejiita could sense was abruptly filled with tense aura that made his fingers ache.  Brolli’s ki was surging so, that Vejiita thought he felt it on his back - hot as a flame.  He looked to Bulma, whose mouth was open in such a daze that his confusion mounted further.  Who had known that the lizard could speak Saiyago?

“You come here to negotiate, _shalak_ ,” Furiza began, tripping on the words but being understood nonetheless.  He laughed quietly, apparently only to himself.  “But Furiza know truth, yes?  You have been stupid, Saiya-jin shit-eaters.  Very, very stupid...”

For a split second, Vejiita’s anger was too great even for him to see properly.  How _dare_ that slime-infested lizard make insults in the Saiya-jin tongue, when he could barely speak it!  But the red haze of his fury lasted only a second longer.  Furiza raised his arm above his head and shouted a single phrase in Aisugo.  Vejiita did not recognize it.  Everyone looked around at each other in stupefied frenzy until Bulma’s teeth clenched visibly.

It was as though the deck had entered a vortex of slow motion.  Bulma turned, crouching low and spreading her arms wide.

“DOWN!”

Her hands went to her ears, and Vejiita barely had time to recognize the command before he reached for his father’s collar and dove on his belly.  The following explosion was unlike anything he had heard before.  It was a dull, crushing sound - as though he were underwater.

The Saiya-jin guards fell on top of him and his father.  Vejiita squinted and glanced under their bodies to see that Brolli was being dragged toward the dock entrance by his own guard.  Another explosion shook the deck, and the only other audible sound was that bastard’s laughter...  Vejiita growled at his inability to act against Furiza, and subsequently realized that he was frantic to see what had happened to Bulma.

The chaos on deck prevented movement, and though Vejiita knew that he had not been hit directly by whatever was attacking them he could feel the atmosphere around him growing soupy with smoke and heavy fumes.  He tried shoving the guards off of him, but was forced down even harder.  The guard begged him to stay down.

Another explosion, and after this one Vejiita found that his senses were being clouded; he had the distinct sensation of being thrown into a tunnel of darkness.  He opened his mouth to protest to the guards but no sound came out.  He choked on the air, his fingers curling with the agony of its heat.  It was the strangest and most frightening feeling he had ever known...

...The guard was moving, and Vejiita saw light again.  Had he gone unconscious?  Surely not!  The stifling air receded only a bit, and when the guard moved from him he saw faces.  Vejiita reached out with his hand - yet he could not see it!  He could not move!  There were voices above him...  They spoke Aisugo.

“Give the prince his own, special quarters,” one voice said.  It was eerily familiar, even in his haze of thought.  The next words he could not understand.

 _No!_   He wanted to shout to them.  Gods, was the stench around him a result of the explosion or from the Aisu-jin lizards themselves?  He gagged again and slammed the back of his head against the deck floor in frustration.

“Take Bulma­ _-sha_ to the infirmary - _fusha ri_...  She will have many questions...”

Vejiita gagged once more on what could have been vomit, he was not sure even of its taste.  Oh, gods, if he got out of this alive he’d eat that woman’s heart out while she still lived - !  He tried getting up once more, and struggled when his feet and arms were lifted.  When Vejiita’s head hit the floor again, though, the impact sent him into darkness.

 


	15. Chapter Fourteen - All'ahshi

**_All’ahshi_ **

**“Repentance”**

 

“You lied to me,” Bulma insisted for the third time in stilted Aisugo.  “If you expect me to keep my end of the bargain now, you are mistaken.”

Furiza had both hands crossed behind his back.  His gleaming white, solid chest was puffed out with indignation and self-satisfaction.  One of his guards snarled with irritation at her words, but the Aisu-jin emperor held up a hand to him.

“Bulma-sha, surely you hadn’t thought me so naïve of my own situation?  What made your position so desperate that you thought I would have told you the complete truth?”

“I expected at least that you would consider what I had to offer--?”  She cursed because she had used the Saiyago word.  “What I had to _offer_ ,” she repeated herself unsteadily.

The past two hours had played havoc on her brain, not to mention that the plasma fumes had made mush of her insides.  Bulma had begun to wonder if she would be capable enough to complete her mission anyway.  Things had deteriorated rapidly enough in her relationship with the Saiya-jin; what made Furiza think that she still held even a modicum of their trust?  She expressed this to him.

“Of course, you do not,” Furiza told her, “but you must attempt to gain at least some of it back.  Tell them that you’ve made a mistake, Bulma-sha.  Tell them that you underestimated us, just as they have.  It is the truth anyway, is it not?”

Bulma did not answer at first, for her pride would not allow it.  Furiza’s guards were sneering in her direction and muttering words that she could not understand; she was sure they were insults, though, by the tone.  _Damn_ _them!_

“What is it that you expect me to do, then?”  She asked Furiza.  “You have them now, as you wished.  What more do you want from me?”

“Make nice with the monkey prince again, Bulma-sha.  Tell him you want to help fix everything; then you will be able to gather more information about their next move.  You can’t think that the Saiya-jin are going to stand by, idle, while we hold their prince captive?”

Bulma took a deep breath and sighed.  Her frustration must be clear by now, because Furiza grinned with unadulterated glee.  But what could she do?  Indeed, her situation seemed as grave as Vejiita’s or Brolli’s--perhaps even more so.  Yet how was she to gain back the trust of two men she had betrayed?  Bulma almost laughed aloud at that:  _men_.  Were they so like human beings that she had now begun to think of them as such?  Guilt began to overcome her with electrifying speed until it was replaced by anxiety.

“Very well,” Bulma sighed again, “where are you keeping them?”

 

#

 

He felt his world explode into an agonizing void of light.  His senses collapsed and regenerated all at once, while the blinding pain in his extremities throbbed with unmerciful persistence.  He could not see, and yet there was light; he could not hear and yet there was so much sound that the silence could have been screaming.  He wept with the pain, indifferent to the shame of it.  Yet his cries were surely more angry than sorrowful, he thought.  Who in all the gods’ names had done this to him--!

“...stop moving...plasma poisoning...your body will recalibrate...”

He leaned toward the sound of a voice, desperate for its reality.  Was this what it was like to be born, he wondered?  Was _he_ being born?  Slowly though, his memory began to jog.  He remembered the interstellar dock, the explosions and the fumes that had nearly choked him to death.  And then he remembered the Aisu-jin.

“Furiza--!”  His voice made a painful mess of his throat, and he wondered if the word had even made it out of his throat.  He wanted to hear that voice again; it had been so soft and gentle, so feminine.

The world began to assume shape once more, and he found that his surroundings were very unfamiliar.  There was someone with him, though, and he/she/it was _very_ familiar.  Try as he might, however, he could not remember who it was.  And for that matter, he realized suddenly--he could not remember who he was.

The being in this room with him was clearer now, and he could see blue--so much blue.  It was a female, he could see that.  Was she Saiya-jin?  He could not see a tail, and so he thought she must not be.  But then, what was she?  What species in the known universe could produce something so beautiful, he wondered?

“Can you see me now?”  She asked, and again he was stunned by the gentleness in her voice.

“Yes,” he replied.  This time it did not hurt so badly to speak.  “Yes, I can see you.”  He told her.

“Then your senses are returning.  Perhaps you will be able to move soon.”

He noted that her voice was getting deeper; it seemed that she was not happy, not as happy as a beautiful creature ought to be.  He turned his head at a slight angle.  Oh, gods, it still hurt to move even an inch.

“Perhaps you are a goddess,” he croaked slowly.  “Will you have mercy on me?”

“What?”  The fair-skinned beauty cocked her chin upward.  “A goddess?”  There was sad, quiet laughter, and a wan smile.

“If you are not a goddess,” he said then, “then perhaps you are a servant?”

“You are ill,” she told him, “you were exposed to a great amount of plasma fumes.  You do not know who you are yet, but you will.  And you will know me; you will probably want to kill me.”

He chuckled and tried raising an arm off of the floor.  Was it stone that he lay on?  It seemed too smooth.  Was he in the palace or on a ship?  He could not tell.

“I remember Furiza,” he told the blue goddess, “I remember what he did to me.  It is him I should kill.”

“Perhaps you will.”  The blue goddess laughed sadly again.  “But not in the state you are in now.  Just wait...  Just a few more moments and you will be yourself again.”

He could not help but hear a bit of disappointment in those words.  He breathed in deeply; the air here was strange, and cold.  In fact, as the blood began flowing easily again into his limbs he became aware that it was colder than anything he was used to.  Soon, he would probably begin to shiver.  He moved his other arm.  Things were coming easier to him now.

“Where are we?”  He asked the blue one.  She moved from her position next to him and leaned against the smooth wall behind her, and sighed.

“The Aisu-jin fleet ship, _Shafuri_.”

“I have been taken prisoner--?”  He gasped in agony as his anger got the best of him.  The jerk in his muscles sent stinging flames down each appendage until he cried out.

The blue goddess had left the wall and knelt by him again.  Her hand was on her chest, and another on the sweaty skin of his forehead.  She reached into her tunic and retrieved a vial.

“I told you, your body is recalibrating.  Stop moving!  I’m going to put a numbing agent just beneath your ear; it will calm the pain for a few moments.”

For this, he was eternally grateful - though he could not express that through the pain.  Her hands were very soft, and the “numbing agent” as she had named it had a pungent odor and sticky feel.  She massaged the strange cream into the crook under his ear, as she had said, and within a few seconds he could feel the pain abating.  He sighed, and she rested his hand upon his stomach.

“My stomach, it feels weak.”  He said to her.  The blue one sat back on her knees.

“You were vomiting just a few moments before you woke up.  The plasma fumes excite a few choice areas of the brain when inhaled.  Just keep still for now.”

“Will you tell me who you are?”  He asked her.  He was beginning to get irritated with her ambiguity.

“No,” she said, “you must let it come to you or else your mind will collapse.  Do you understand?”

A few moments of silence passed, because he had not known what to say in reply.  There were sounds around them, but he could not tell exactly what they were.  Perhaps he did not want to know, as she had indirectly told him.  His breathing was a bit less stifled now, as it did not hurt so much to inhale.  He could feel the sweat on his skin begin to cool.  He remembered the feeling of her hands, the blue one, and how she had seemed so familiar to him when he’d first awoken.

He must know her, he thought.  Her hands had felt familiar also.  Perhaps she had been his servant?  His lover?  Surely, a female such as this would have been a gift.  He squirmed a bit on the floor - that numbing agent had made him a bit woozy.

“Why are you helping me?”  He asked the blue one.

Was she a prisoner also?  Her blue hair shimmered in the dim light of the room, and she looked away from him.  There was a distinct sadness in her matching blue eyes.  She sighed prettily and pressed her fingers against her temple.

“Because treachery will not bring my people back, _Zarshi-kalan_.”

A few seconds after she had said the words, her expression changed.  She was frightened, and so was he.  _Zarshi-kalan...?_   Suddenly the numbing agent seemed to have worn off, and yet the pain was not in his body - it came distinctly from a far away corner in his mind.  The blue one was speaking frantically in another language...

Oh, gods, and it all came washing back to him in waves of rage/pain/sadness/desire.  The Aisu-jin and Vejiita-sei, his father’s over-confidence... _Kassha’hal!_   _...Because it pleases my ka’fuu..._

Though it felt like tiny knives stabbing him from head to toe, Vejiita charged his aura and felt the _jal’a_ begin to surge up his torso.  He lunged to his feet and reached for Bulma’s throat.  Her eyes were wide at first, when he pressed her against the wall of the cell; never had he been so close to her and felt nothing but anger - nothing but complete disgust.  Probably, she could see it in his eyes.

“ _Buhala-kalzan!_ ”  He cursed at her, venom spitting from the words.  “You _bitch_.  You _let_ them do this to me and now you would come here - to aid me!”

Though it looked as though Bulma wished to speak, the hold Vejiita kept on her throat would not allow it.  All this time he had wanted to silence her insolence:  her _disdain_ for him.  And yet he had kept up a pretense of kindness for her sake - to prove that meddling would do her no good!  For nothing!  For nothing!

“You want to speak, don’t you?”  He asked her.  Her eyes were frantic, and her lips parted in an attempt to breathe.  “Should I let you,” he wondered aloud and tightened his grip, “or should I kill you?  It would be a fine gift to Furiza, returning his lovely spy with lips as blue as her hair...”

Vejiita could see that what he said had terrified her.  Despite anything he had believed in the past, she did not wish to die now, that much he could see.  Bulma’s fingers tugged on his grip; her instinct was taking over now, because even she knew that to struggle would only worsen her predicament.

After another one or two seconds had passed, something changed.  Bulma’s panic-stricken gaze met his, and then she stopped struggling.  She was still conscious and yet her limbs became limp as a doll.  Vejiita saw her new ploy; she wanted him to see what he was doing to her.  She wanted him to see with clarity that he was killing her with his bare hands.  In an instant something fresh washed over his rage:  something unfamiliar.

Vejiita watched her eyelids flutter slowly shut, and fear clinched his heart.  How strange it was, he thought, to be so oddly terrified by the prospect of her death.  Infuriated, Vejiita released his grip on her throat and tossed her to the floor and away from him.  Satisfied that she would live, he looked away and pressed both palms against the cool, smooth surface of the wall.

Bulma was writhing on the floor behind him, gasping hysterically to regain control of her breath.  The sound made prickled ends of Vejiita’s nerves, and he found that his fingers were clenching into fists.  As her gasps slowed, Vejiita shut his eyes and bit the bottom of his lip; what in all the gods’ names had happened?  He should have strangled her...  _He should have killed her!_

“Damn you,” he whispered to the wall.  “The gods’ damn you,” he said it louder this time, so she could hear him over her gasping.  “You’ve tainted my soul the way you tainted Brolli’s!”

For a few more seconds, Bulma breathed deeply.  But then she spoke, and her voice was ragged:  torn from the damage he had probably inflicted.  Vejiita ground his teeth together at the sound of it.

“If your soul is tainted,” she choked, “perhaps we are both at fault.”

Vejiita opened his eyes, his jaw relaxed.  Her words were only partly surprising, he thought.  The cold air of the cell began to creep down his spine like droplets of ice water, and Vejiita shivered.  His body was finally beginning to feel normal, yet his mind was still in a state of panic and rage.  Finally, he turned to look at her.

Bulma was still on the floor of the cell, her long legs splayed out beneath her.  Her arms struggled to hold her up, shaking all the way.  Vejiita could see now the glaring abrasions he had left on her skin.  Bruises would form there later, and even the collar of her tunic would not hide them.  Bulma looked fiercely at him, in spite of her position.

“Do you want me to admit that I worked against you?”  Her voice was still very broken when she spoke.  “How could you have ever doubted it?”

“Of course I knew!”  Vejiita raged.  “In a fleeting second I could have proved to my father _and_ to Brolli that you were working with the Mizuka-jin rebellion!  You _knew_ that I knew it!”

“Then how can you be surprised now, Vejiita?  How can you be so murderous if you expected it all along!”  Bulma’s voice got more ragged as her voice rose.

“I told you,” he lowered his voice, “I knew you worked with the Mizuka-jin.  You probably still do, that is if you are able.  I admit that suspicions had crossed my mind about you and Furiza.  But never in my nightmares did I, for one moment, think that you had plotted to assassinate us with the Aisu-jin!  Never!”

Vejiita heard that he had been bellowing at the top of his lungs again.  His voice was muted and flat against the walls of the cell, though, and he could have been swallowing every word.  It seemed then, that Bulma was shocked by what he had said.  Vejiita wanted to chuckle; it was not the first time.  Probably, it would not be the last.

“So you see now what you have done, Bulma?  You have unleashed a beast far more volatile than you could have imagined.”

“I - I know...”

“You do _not_ know!”  Vejiita insisted.  He pushed himself away from the wall.  It was not so easy, he realized, and he clutched at the sore muscles of his stomach.  His legs were still very weak.

“You should rest longer.”   Bulma’s voice had begun to sound familiar again.

“And wait for my doom on my knees?  Furiza would find it a fitting position, no doubt.”

Again, she was silent.  After a few more moments, she curled her legs under her.  The silky material of her tunic, yet undamaged, stirred and made the only soft noise besides their breathing.  Vejiita watched as she wrapped both arms around her legs and clutched tightly.  He had not seen her look so vulnerable since knowing her; if he had not been so preoccupied with their situation, he might have grinned in satisfaction.

“You have to know, Vejiita, that Furiza lied to me.  I did not ‘let’ them take you.  I did not - !”

“You allowed it by going into his confidences!  If you think Furiza is any different than the monsters you believe the Saiya-jin to be, you are horribly mistaken!”

“I knew he was the same!”  Bulma’s words were shaking, he realized, and her Saiyago was accented more than usual.  She sounded more foreign now than she ever had before.

“I knew they were the same as you!”  She continued.  “Lying bastards - murderers!”

“Your planet was purged because it was of no use to us,” Vejiita told her, “how many such species are destroyed by more advanced technologies:  more superior knowledge?  How many times did it happen on your own world, Bulma?  Did you condemn your own people as you condemn us, or did you look away--?”

Vejiita’s speech was cut short in surprise.  Bulma shook her head and looked away from him.  Her face was contorted in agony, but not from any physical pain that he could tell.  She slid onto her knees and stood shakily, made her way toward the opposite wall.  When Bulma leaned against the smooth surface, she was rubbing her arms against the chill of the air - and she was sobbing.

“I wanted you to destroy each other.  I wanted it so much...  So much.”

Vejiita’s brow creased in utter uncertainty.  Should he speak now?  Bulma reached an arm out and pointed at him.

“You played a game with me - with Brolli, with all three of us!  But it was never a game to me, Vejiita.  Never!  I would have sacrificed everything for revenge!”

For what seemed an eternity, the room was quiet but for her broken sobs.  Bulma slid back down to a squat and pressed both hands against her eyes.  Vejiita found that even now, shocked as he was by this outright display of her failure, he still harbored enough anger not to feel sorry for her.  And yet, looking at her now, he did feel a measure of pity.  He _had_ played a game with her, a dangerous and spiteful game, and the consequences of it now seemed to have gone deeper than he’d thought possible.  Vejiita crossed his weary arms.

“I believe that is what you _have_ sacrificed.”

Bulma looked at him for a moment, after he had said it.  And in her eyes, he could see the pain and the anger, the hate and bitterness that had torn her to shreds.  He knew that he had borne at least a part of it, and there was a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach that did not match the soreness he had felt earlier.  Was it - regret?  Impossible...

Bulma crawled to her knees and pressed her face onto the floor.  Still sobbing, she began to murmur in her native language, but he did not know the words.  Was she praying to her gods?  She looked so reverent, so eternally regretful.  It was enough to make him feel sorry - finally.  Vejiita crushed his fingers together into fists and cursed the pitiful sound of her voice.  He remembered that voice, so poignant and sweet in desire - so determined and rigid in her pride.

But Vejiita did not go to her.  He would not.  He remained in silence for what felt like hours, waiting for Bulma to purge herself of denial and accept what she had become.

His silence slipped into meditation, and unwittingly into a doze.  When Vejiita’s eyes snapped open once again, the cell had not changed, but Bulma was lying on the floor apparently asleep.  Her hair was tousled about, the blue tresses covering most of her face.  But her breathing was steady.

He recalled that, before, in his recovery the surge of _jal’a_ had been painful.  Vejiita wondered how well his body would take to it now.  He scanned the back of the cell door briefly and saw that its tech, though slightly more advanced than Saiya-jin, was not completely different than the control panels of their own holding cells.  He wondered if he destroyed it, would it trigger an alarm system?  He _had_ to escape.  The gods only knew what had become of his father, Brolli, Raditsu and the others who had been on deck.

Vejiita crossed the small cell and knelt by Bulma’s crumpled form.  Regardless of his anger, she must be dealt with in the face of a Saiya-jin court.  He could not leave her to the mercy of the Aisu-jin - to a fate worse than any she had suffered so far.  Vejiita remembered the first war with the Aisu-jin, years ago, when soldiers had been mutilated beyond recognition - unable to be identified even by family members.  He’d been but a young man then, but he remembered how those who had survived were scarred in different ways:  ways that caused eventual, complete psychological collapse...  No matter how much she deserved punishment, the kind he would more than willingly bestow, Bulma could not be deserving of that.  In an action that seemed too keenly tender for his tastes, Vejiita brushed disheveled locks of hair away from her face.

“Bulma.”

At the sound of his voice, her eyes fluttered open.  For a brief second, she seemed to be confused by her surroundings, and she blinked more than a few times.  But then she was fully awake, she gasped, and pushed herself up on both hands.  Bulma stared at him, her eyes and lips were puffy and slightly red from her tears.  But her cheeks were still blushed, and her eyes had lost none of their sparkle.  It must have been a cruel punishment, he thought, that the gods could make such a vicious female so beautiful.  Vejiita wondered if she had always been so hateful.  He blinked.

“We need to get out of this cell,” he told her firmly.  “I think you know how.”

“I - Furiza gave me the override codes, but only for your cell.”  Bulma brushed a hand over her hair absently.

“A trusting gesture,” Vejiita chuckled cruelly at that, “perhaps too trusting.  He must be monitoring you.”

“I’m not sure,” Bulma shook her head, “but I am not wired.”

Vejiita nodded and stood, his legs were still a bit shaky but he was moving with more ease now.  Though, as he brushed fingers against his forehead, he noted that he was still sweating.  Perhaps his body temperature was still a bit high.

“Do you have a bioScan?”  He asked her.  She nodded and reached into the lower pocket of her tunic.

Bulma switched on the palm-sized device and entered a bit of information, probably on his species and sex, then pressed the cool material up against his temple.  A few seconds went by, and the scanner blipped pleasantly.  Bulma examined it.

“Your temperature is two degrees above normal, but everything else seems to be functioning well enough.  How do you feel?”

“Weak,” Vejiita admitted, “but better.”

He lifted his arm and flexed his muscles a bit; they seemed to be in proper working order.  He concentrated on his palm for a few seconds and felt a few waves of _jal’a_ begin to work on his insides.  Immediately, Bulma’s hand closed over his palm.

“Don’t!  Every holding cell in this ship, and probably these corridors are built with dampening orbs inside.  If you so much as let a beam the width of your finger loose, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

Vejiita wanted to curse, but instead he looked away from her, frustrated.  Indeed, if dampening orbs were in place, any attempt he would make to utilize his energy would be met with pain.  She left his side to open the control panel by the cell door.  Bulma pressed on one of the Aisugo symbols and the panel slid open.

“How can you see when a Saiya-jin uses the jal’a?”  He wondered aloud, a bit irritably, and came to her side by the door.

Bulma lifted her fingers to the keys of the control pad.  She did not press anything, though, and did not look at him when she spoke.

“When I first came to Vejiita-sei I was not used to the thicker, humid air.  On Chikyuu there is no such place as humid as that.”  She paused, memory flickering over her face.

“I used to get terrible backaches after working all day; they were so stifling that I often lay in bed for hours.”  Bulma paused, seeming to remember her story with a sad regret.  “Raditsu used to press his fingers here,” she put two fingers at the base of her spine, inches above her bottom.  “And he would take the pain away - he used his jal’a, and I could see the way it worked in his face...  In his body.”

Vejiita knew the technique; Saiya-jin lovers used it often to comfort each other’s wounds whether physical or emotional.  He wondered if she had ever regretted not being able to return the favor.  More pity began to flood him, distressing him.

“We must find them,” Vejiita said to distract himself from the gentle curve of her mouth.  “Do you know where they are?”

Bulma looked at him this time, and her eyes were again filling with tears.  The lips he had been admiring shook, and her hand dropped away from the control pad.

“Vejiita - ?”  She shook her head, and more fat tears began to carve trails down her blushing cheeks.  “Your father is dead.  He did not survive the plasma poisoning.”

He was not prepared for the words, but deeply he was not surprised by them either.  His father was dead...  Gods, that made Vejiita king:  ruler of an endangered empire, and without a guide.  The shock was enough to keep his reactions at bay for now.  He breathed heavily though, and clenched his fists.

“And Brolli?  Raditsu?”

Bulma seemed only a little surprised that his reaction to his father’s death had not been as violent as she had thought it would be.  But she continued to watch him curiously.

“Raditsu is the only one who made it off of the interstellar dock.  His guard was able to rescue him and seal the doors before the fumes could reach into the fleet ship.  It was Raditsu who entered the manual override codes to release the _Shafuri_ from the Saiya-jin ship.  As far as I know, he is the only one who has been in contact with Furiza since your capture.

“Brolli is...”  Bulma looked away again, and perhaps she was seeing the story she had told him in her mind.  “Brolli is alive, but barely.  When he came to after the poisoning wore off his aura became too volatile for the cell’s orbs.  I - I tried to have him calmed but he was too confused, he - ?  I am not sure how badly his body has been damaged, I have not been allowed to see him since it happened.”

“Vash’halla has not been kind,” Vejiita said matter-of-factly.  “We have no power over these things.”

Bulma turned half-lidded eyes back to him and pressed her lips together indignantly.  Her reaction to his words was difficult to read indeed; this surprised him.  Vejiita knew he would not - could not - be incapacitated by how grave the situation was.  Perhaps she had thought that even he would have broken down.

“It’s my fault,” she said suddenly.  “You can say it.  Brolli was already on the verge of a breakdown because of me.  It’s a wonder he’s survived this long.”  There was less venom in her voice now than there had ever been.

Instead of responding, though, Vejiita did not speak.  Moments ago, before she had broken down and begged forgiveness from her gods, he would have agreed with her.  Indeed, Brolli’s heightened emotional state could explain his instability now.  And that instability had unquestionably been Bulma’s doing - whether or not she had realized how deeply Brolli had desired her:  right down to the soul.  Vejiita wondered now, even now; how much did _he_ desire her?  A long moment had passed by now, and Bulma saw that he had been staring at her.

“Perhaps it would be wise for me to leave first,” she said, “and to return for you later.  Furiza knows I am here now; he thinks I am trying to gain back your trust so that I can deliver him more information on Saiya-jin movement.”

Something about the way she said the words made a bit of anger flare back up into his fingertips.  Maybe it was the words themselves, maybe it was the way he thought he wanted her, right now - here - in this cell.  Vejiita reached out with his left hand to turn her shoulder around so that she was facing him.  With his right, he pressed his palm against the flat plane under her collarbone so that he was not choking her, but holding her against the wall very securely.  Bulma could not escape from it, he knew.

“Return for me?”  He asked her.  “How can I trust you after all you’ve done--!”

“You don’t have much of a choice, Vejiita!”  Bulma told him.  She squirmed a little under his grip but did not attempt to struggle.

“I could choose to kill you here and now!  I could escape no matter what pain those dampening orbs dish out and you know it!”

“You won’t!”  She insisted.  “If I die you won’t have a chance at getting out of here and you know it!  Even you cannot face Furiza alone, especially not now.

“And you won’t because if you kill me now, you can’t have me and even still you _do_ want me.  I see it in your eyes Vejiita - do not think me daft even after all that’s happened!  _You_ want to be the one who deals my punishment--!”

Vejiita crushed his mouth against hers in anger, to stop the alluring, indignant lilt of her voice:  the last desperate attempt she had to save herself.  It was the way he had wanted to kiss her since meeting her and had not been able to.  He had sacrificed every greater instinct to prove to her that she was wrong about Saiya-jin, and now he could not stifle it.

Bulma resisted at first to the pressure and depth of his kiss, and perhaps even for a moment she did not want him the way he wanted her.  But a few more seconds passed and she yielded.  Her body loosened and leaned against the wall behind the force of his palm, while her fingers tangled frantically into his hair.

Vejiita could sense that she was confused at first by his groping and grabbing; he had never touched her in such a way, and she was probably remembering the way Brolli had done things to her.  He didn’t care.  He didn’t care now, not now.  He bit her full bottom lip until she whimpered; good, she deserved it.  In ways, she even begged for it.  When she whimpered at the pain, his groin throbbed and he crushed his hips against hers.

Vejiita realized vaguely that she had been expecting this of him, and that if he continued she would win this round at least.  But could he?  Could he stop now?  Vejiita sucked on the lip he had bitten and tasted sweet/salt/metal.  He opened his eyes and broke their kiss to find that the tears on her cheeks had dripped into the corners of her mouth and that he had broken the skin of her lips.

“Does it hurt, Chikyuu-jin?” He whispered to her and pressed on the corner of her lips with his thumb.  A bit more blood trickled free, and Vejiita drew the tip of his thumb underneath her mouth.  When he gripped her chin, Bulma’s eyes opened and the deep blue of them seemed more alien than they had before.  Vejiita pressed on her chin and breathed against her mouth until she blinked long and hard.

“S _ha’n saahkehm_...  Your blood is sweet.” he paused and bent his head to press his lips against her ear.  “I think I could kill you as soon as I would make love to you.”

“So could I...”  Bulma whispered in reply.

Vejiita could sense more than see that she had caught him.  There was a very light press on his temple, and he could see from this angle that her left arm was raised.  She had pulled a weapon on him and he hadn’t even noticed.  He leaned away from her, but taught strings of desire nearly kept him from doing so.  Bulma was pointing a small, stunner-shaped object at his head that resembled the tech of the Mizuka-jin.  He could not help but chuckle.

“I should have known you better, _Shall’la_.”  He told her.

“Indeed,” she replied, eyes wide and still filled with salty tears.  She cocked the sleek, ergonomic gun a bit downward.  “If I fire, it will send an electro-pulse to your brain stem.  Do not move.”

Vejiita smirked at her.  Gods, she was so intelligent that her resourcefulness really deserved praise, not punishment.  Perhaps this was the part of her that had driven Raditsu mad with longing, and brought Brolli to his knees.  He lifted his chin imperceptibly and grinned.

“Did Furiza give that to you, Bulma?”

“No.”  She said, and her tone told him that she was not lying.  “I made it, myself, in Geishan a year ago.  It is merely a stunner that I synthesized to create a more deadly weapon; I carry it always.  If you don’t listen to me now one of us, if not both of us, will die.”

Vejiita chuckled and lifted a hand.  Just as he gripped her wrist he heard a distinctive _blip_ , and Bulma pressed the nozzle of the little weapon harder into his temple.  The grin left his lips in a heartbeat.  His grip tightened on her wrist.

“What do you think I have to lose, Vejiita?”  She asked him.  “My dignity?  Nothing those frozen lizards could do to me could tarnish that any more.  My life?  What has my life become?”

“It does not have to be that way, Bulma,” Vejiita said finally.  “Help me out of this and you may find that the Saiya-jin criminal councils will be more sympathetic of your plight.”

Bulma’s lips curled into a snarl, and she sniffled girlishly.

“I’m _trying_ to help you, can’t you _see_?”  She licked her bottom lip to dissolve some of the blood there.  Absurdly, Vejiita felt his cock stir at the sight of it.

“Let me leave now and figure out a way to distract Furiza from the holding area.  Then I will discover how to help Brolli.  Somehow I will contact Raditsu in order to arrange a rescue mission.  I _will_ come back for you!” 

Vejiita did not breathe for a few seconds, and watched the look in her eyes change several times from desire to hatred, back to desire again and finally honesty.  Perhaps she had been right, then; he had no other choice but to trust her.  He nodded very slowly, and the smirk crept back onto his face without his consent.

“Very well, _Shall’la_.  You drive a very hard bargain.”

Bulma’s eyebrows lifted, and she sniffled again.  The device in her hand blipped again, and she smiled tiredly; it was the first time, Vejiita thought, that he had seen real relief in her expression.  Her bottom lip was swollen now from his bite.  Vejiita lifted his arm again and this time, he brushed her hand and the device away from his temple.  Bulma was breathing heavily and watching him.

“I vowed that none of you would ever break me, Vejiita.  But you have, you know?  You did it without my knowing or even caring.”  She was still smiling pathetically.  “ _Bastard,_ ” she said in her native tongue.  “Someday I will have to repay you.”

Bulma turned from him and accessed the control panel on the door once more.  She entered a few codes, and a green light appeared over the doorway.  She left the holding cell without another word and locked the control panel outside.  Vejiita threw his back up against the wall and crouched low to the ground.  He would have to gather all of his strength now; what was to come would be more challenging than breaking the mind of a determined female, surely.

Did he trust that she would return?  Sadly, Vejiita knew that he did not.  After what had happened, perhaps she would return to Furiza (though it would be stupid of her) and attempt to finish the cause for which she had set out.  Furiza had probably promised to aid her in her endeavors with the Mizuka-jin resistance, though Vejiita was sure that none of that would ever happen.  Furiza would be an idiot if he had complied so easily with such a small resistance faction as that.  And recent events had proved that he was no idiot.

Then again, perhaps she would return for him.  Did he, on some level, hope that she would?  Frighteningly, Vejiita knew that he did.

 


	16. Chapter Fifteen - Anakehm

**_Anakehm_ **

**“Fresh Blood”**

 

“Aash’an, we have three hundred men ready for invasion.  What are your orders?”

Raditsu was aware that someone had spoken to him, but his mind was too far away to really understand the words.  He was silent; what other response could he make?  Raditsu watched from the bridge’s vid screen as the warship Kuraoh veered off to its left slightly, toward the mother ship.  Now let the Aisu-jin try one more attempt at a surprise attack!  The Kuraoh would incinerate the Aisu-jin fleet ship with little effort.  But Raditsu guessed that was why they had not made any other attempts; no, they had wanted something else before and now they had it.  They’d wanted the prince, and Brolli.  The king had merely been icing on the cake.

“Captain?”

The voice came to him again, and he turned to see his subordinate, Keil, watching him with curious eyes.  There was an important question in them.  The other warrior shifted uneasily from side to side.

“What is it?”

“The warriors for invasion, Aash’an; they stand ready on board Kuraoh.  Our backup squads tell us that the _Kei-jal’a_ were not damaged in the attack and are ready for use.  What are your orders?”

Raditsu sighed thoughtfully.  Still, he could not find the energy within himself to respond as he should.  What in all the gods’ names had gone wrong to make the situation this dire?  What had they not known - what had they not seen?

“Oh yes,” Raditsu murmured finally.  “Tell them to transport here.  The Aisu-jin will expect an assault transporting from Kuraoh, but not from here.”  Keil nodded.  “Any word from Galactic Security Squad 5?”

Keil’s expression changed, though it was almost imperceptible.  But Raditsu saw that much, and knew the reason for his subordinate’s hesitancy.  Squad #5 was widely known throughout the entirety of the Saiya-jin empire, which of course meant that anyone living in the Videon knew who they were whether it was by that name, or another.

Raditsu had heard various names.  On Mizukashi, they were known as _Lihima_ , meaning “beasts” or “wild things”.  And before the planet Arlia had been purged, they were called _Yuxhim_ , meaning “soulless ones”; the Aisu-jin fondly referred to them as _Rishallak za_ , or “flesh eating demons”.  Their commander was probably the most ruthless, unforgiving soldier in Vejiita-sei’s army, and his subordinates were mere extensions of his will.  Raditsu had to smirk a bit at the thought of them.

It did not matter, he thought, how they were known.  The point was that the Saiya-jin had already waited too long to summon them; they had already underestimated the seriousness of this war and were about to rely on Squad #5 as a final hope.

“Any word from them, Keil?”  Raditsu repeated his question because Keil had yet to answer.  The soldier in front of him swallowed.

“None yet, Aash’an.  But the transmission was sent to Commander Bardock’s scouting device less than twenty minutes ago.  Depending on their location, it may take several more minutes for him to receive it.”

“Very well,” Raditsu said, “stand ready to receive communication from them.”

“Will they come, Aash’an?”  Keil asked.

“They will.”  Raditsu told him.  “Although my father is somewhat of a vigilante, he knows his duty.  He will come.”

Keil nodded and saluted again, this time ready to depart.

“Suukah,” he said hurriedly, and hurried from the bridge.  A few other soldiers followed him.

“Shallan,” Raditsu replied quietly.  He turned and faced the vid screen again.  “Can someone give me an engineering report?”  He asked absently.

Before one of the bridge operators had time to reply, the communications officer addressed him:  “Aash’an, there is a transmission signal from somewhere in the northeastern sector of the Videon.  It is urgent.”

Raditsu’s eyes narrowed; Vejiita-sei’s solar system was in the northeastern sector.  He bit his lip and remembered that his father had been given orders to patrol that area after Vejiita-sei’s destruction.

“On screen,” he told the officer.  And the image of the Kuraoh disappeared to display fuzzy interference.  After a few seconds, though, the image righted itself and his father’s face was visible.

Raditsu had to grin evilly.  His father looked more and more like a rebel each time he saw him.  He wore a red cloth around his forehead:  the tag, as it were, of his squad.  And now, when he looked very carefully, Raditsu saw that there was a new scar on his father’s left cheek.  It crossed over an old one he’d gotten during the Saiya-jin raid on the Videon’s eastern sector to defeat the Quarli emperor, years ago.  It had been quite a resistance, Raditsu remembered.  Enough to scar his father, anyway - which was quite a feat in itself.

“Ah, Raditsu.  If I’d known the transmission had come from you I would have responded sooner.”  His father’s grin was nearly a mirror image of his own, but Raditsu did not favor his father’s appearance so much as his other siblings.

“Commander,” Raditsu said, “you do us an honor.”

His father laughed; it was quite amused, considering the circumstances.  After he had finished, Bardock licked his bottom lip.

“Always kissing my ass, Raditsu!  In such things you have always outmatched your brothers.”

“Indeed,” Raditsu said gleefully.

“Have you finally convinced the King that you need our help?  Or is this merely a courtesy call?”

Raditsu’s smile fell, and he crossed both arms over his chest.  There was a brief moment of silence, and even the operators on the bridge seemed to have stopped what they were doing.  Bardock’s eyes grew dark, and before Raditsu could answer he saw a familiar face edge its way onto the screen beside his father.

“Raditsu!  It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”  His younger brother Turles cackled at him and squinted.

The same face peered over his father’s other shoulder; it was Turles’s twin, Kakarot.  Raditsu had to smile at the two of them; Turles was always the sharper of the twins, and Kakarot always the moron.  But the two of them had few rivals in strength and as it turned out, Kakarot always beat the living hell out of Turles during sparring matches - oddly enough.

“Raditsu!”  Kakarot fumbled onto the screen.  “Long time no see!  Hey, you got time for a spar?  Ow--!”  Bardock had slapped him upside the head.

“Idiots!”  He snapped.  Bardock had little patience for the absent-mindedness of his twin sons.  “Raditsu...  You have something to tell me?”

Raditsu nodded and uncrossed his arms.  He told his father everything:  everything from the moment Vejiita had declared their departure for Yuki-sei until the attack on the interstellar dock, the death of the king and the capture of Vejiita and Brolli.  Bardock’s mouth thinned with every word.

“So you see Father, we have desperate need of your attention.  I can only apologize, since we have not requested it sooner.  But it is difficult trying to convince Saiya-jin royalty of anything.”

“Indeed,” Bardock agreed quietly.  Turles and Kakarot had grown uncharacteristically quiet.  Perhaps they too had been shocked into silence just as Raditsu had.  “Perhaps the King should have called for us the moment Vejiita-sei was destroyed.  We have been scouting the outer rims of her solar system since we received word; no one has come back.  We have been wasting our time!”

“I know, _Kantak._ ” Raditsu said. “And wasting your talent.  But it is I who requests your help now; our main objective is to rescue Vejiita-Zarshi, the Kassha’hal Brolli, and to invade Yuki-sei as was planned from the beginning.  We can no longer delay by distracting the Aisu-jin; we have underestimated them.”

“So we have,” Bardock said regretfully.  “The system you have always loved so much has failed you, _jya’nehm_.”

Raditsu bowed his head for a moment.  It was true that Raditsu had always favored the more strict rules of society than his father or brothers had.  It was commonplace for them to be always skating on the thin ice of legality, and the only reason why some of their actions had gone unpunished was because of the squad’s value to the empire.  Raditsu lifted his eyes back to his father.

“Perhaps that is so, Father,” he told Bardock, “but if you do not help us now there will be no system left to have disdain for.  Our very existence is threatened.”

Bardock was silent for another few seconds, and Kakarot shifted uncomfortably at his side.  Turles looked at his father, and then back at the screen; his face was unreadable.  The operators on the bridge had quietly ceased all activity.  Bardock leaned forward and blinked a few times into the screen.

“Raditsu, you will tell Vejiita-Zarshi after we’ve rescued him; his reign had best be a long and prosperous one.”

Raditsu grinned and uncrossed his arms.  He saluted his father.  There seemed to be a sigh of relief throughout the bridge.

“I will tell him, Commander.  The Royal House thanks you...  I thank you.”

Bardock chuckled some more.  Turles and Kakarot were cracking their knuckles; they knew a fight was coming.  So much so that they could probably smell the blood from here.  Bardock stopped chuckling.

“My ship’s warp pods should still be fully charged and can dock with your fleet ship.  We will be there within the hour.”

 

#

 

The corridor was icy, drafty and dark.  She jogged down the empty space, watching her breath freeze in front of her.  This ship was unlike anything Bulma had ever seen since becoming acquainted with space travel.  But then, she thought, the Aisu-jin were unlike anything she had seen thus far; and she had seen her fair share of alien life forms since leaving Chikyuu.  But Chikyuu was admittedly far from her mind now.  The only thing Bulma wondered was simply:  how in all the gods’ names was she going to get out of the mess she’d created?

Thick, cold tears threatened to well over her eyes each time Bulma really began to think of the dire situation she’d created - each time she understood just how stupid she had really been.  How could she have trusted Furiza?  How could she even have believed that he would have trusted her?  But what was done, was done now.  Bulma had spent enough time mourning her mistakes and miraculously surviving Vejiita’s wrath.  Even without the use of his ki, surely he could have strangled her without much effort.  But he hadn’t, Bulma remembered.  She was here, alive, and sweating even in this cold hallway.

She had realized upon leaving the cell block that she could not go back to Furiza.  Even Bulma had now run out of excuses or fabrications and, she realized, if Furiza even thought he smelled a hint of deceit he would kill her.  And that would be the end of that...  Bulma shook her head and slowed her footsteps; she was nearing the junction and there, she would have to make a choice.

Bulma pressed her back up against the freezing wall.  It seemed she had not the will even to shiver.  She rubbed the back of her hand against her mouth and nose to make an attempt at warming them.  She was unsuccessful.

The intersection here would lead her either north toward the helm of the ship, where Furiza waited for her, west into the engineering wing or east toward the medical wing.  North was not an option; Furiza was too keen, Bulma knew that now.  And so, should she proceed to engineering and attempt to communicate with Raditsu first?  Or should she try another approach?  Bulma thrust her fist back into the pocket of her tunic and felt her pulse gun; the metal had gone cold in a matter of seconds.  Bulma traced the contours of her self-made weapon and thought for a moment.

If she remembered correctly, the gun had ten charges in it.  When she had finished crafting it, that even number had seemed enough for her to utilize should she ever need it.  But Bulma had not anticipated needing it so much as she did now.  Then again, Furiza had not anticipated her being armed; he had never once checked her for weapons.  His mistake may have saved her life, for she had no other weapons - not even the knowledge of using her own ki.

Looking back down the corridor to the south, she remembered an angry Vejiita waiting for her in his cell.  Probably, he was uncertain if she would come back for him.  But she had no choice, really; perhaps he knew that.  But perhaps he thought that she no longer cared whether she lived or died here, in this icy hell, if it be by his hand or by Furiza’s.

Bulma’s lip curled with indignation.  She left the pulse gun in her pocket and headed as calmly as possible toward sick bay.

 

#

 

Outside the heavy, security-sealed door to sick bay, Bulma paused.  Before hitting the call button she attempted to compose herself.  It seemed as though a cold sweat was still dripping down the center of her back, and it crawled over her skin with maddening sensation.  She wiped the palms of her hands furiously against the silky pants she wore and took a few deep breaths.  Bulma pressed the call button.

To her surprise, the door opened without a request call.  The Aisu-jin standing on the other side of it looked no different from the others, but for the ranking crest near its collar bone - or what passed as a collar bone, she thought.  He/she/it scowled at her and snarled.  Some of that repulsive red saliva dripped off of its lip.

“What do you want, _sha rilak_?”  It asked her irritably.  Bulma glared at it with all the hate left in her, though she had sparing quantities of it left.

“Furiza instructed me to see the one in charge of sick bay.  There are some...”  She paused and tried to think of the word.  “Complications...  After-effects...  Plasma shock.”

The Aisu-jin snarled one more time and looked away to the other side of the bay, apparently to its subordinate because its tone was quite harsh, and crossed both arms over its slick chest.  It spat out a few words that Bulma could barely understand and spewed forth more of that red, saliva-like liquid.  Bulma lifted her upper lip in disgust and reached into her pocket.  As the lizard-like alien spoke, she aimed her pulse gun carefully between its eyes.  When it looked back at her, those eyes widened for just a moment before she fired.

Bulma had not actually seen her creation work on a living creature so far, and she had at least a bit of time to be pleased with the results as the Aisu-jin gripped both sides of its frazzling head.  A few sparks flew as the pulse interacted with whatever neurotransmitters the alien’s dying synapses had fired, and those black eyes rolled back into its head.  With a sudden grace, Bulma stepped over its body and took sight of the other Aisu-jin.  This one was shouting curses at her and reaching for the communicator near its desk.

She fired again, aiming for its chest.

This time, the Aisu-jin shuddered a bit before collapsing in a convulsive heap on the floor.  It screeched a few times as the pulse traveled up its spine and perhaps into its cerebellum.  No matter, though, Bulma thought.  So long as it was dead.  And it was, she realized as she stepped closer to it, though it still twitched a bit.

Bulma looked around; there was no one else.  Hurriedly, she went to the first body and dragged it back into the small sick bay.  Bulma slammed her palm down on the control pad and watched the door swish shut in front of her.  Then, she went quickly to work.

Bulma examined the reconstruction and rejuvenating equipment.  She saw that its structure was not completely unlike that of the Saiya-jin tanks and beds, but that it was slightly more advanced.  She did not have the time to investigate it more thoroughly, she thought with regret.  But if it was programmed and calibrated even sixty percent the same way as Saiya-jin equipment, it would probably emit the same pulse waves if its energy core collapsed:  the same pulse waves that powered her gun.

If Bulma could rig the energy core, the resulting explosion would not be enough to damage large areas of the ship.  Yet it would indeed be possible that anyone in the room during the blast would have been killed - thus creating the distraction she needed and lifting suspicion from her.  Bulma knelt down beside the closest tank and ran her hand along its underbelly.  If the Aisu-jin had constructed their tanks the same way, then the core control panel should be somewhere... just about...

“Ah!  There...”  Bulma grinned to herself.  The core control panel had been exactly where she’d guessed.  For a moment she was more than proud of her scientific mind.

There was no security panel on the lid, and so Bulma flicked it open and crawled onto her knees to see better.  The light in the room was a greenish gray, and it made things a bit more difficult than she had imagined a moment ago; this was especially true once she started reading the Aisugo characters.  They were difficult, she realized:  more difficult than any she had studied so far.  But, Bulma thought, she was in luck.  The control panel was familiar in structure and color; even if she could not read the characters then, at least she knew which key strokes she would have to follow.

Bulma was finished the key sequence before she expected.  There would be no time to stall now; there were only forty seconds until core meltdown in the machine she had altered.  She had only that time before the machine detonated.  Bulma scrambled to her feet and raced over toward the refrigeration units to retrieve a few extra vials of numbing agent.  They probably would not be enough to calm all of Brolli’s pain but it was better than nothing.

The machine’s alarm had begun to sound, and a few other emergency lamps in the room flickered.  Bulma stuffed the vials into her tunic and retrieved her gun.  With one last glance, she made sure that the two Aisu-jin were expired.  When Bulma was sure that they were quite dead, she opened the control panel and slid through the open door.  Once it had slid shut behind her, she entered the lock sequence on the outside panel and turned to race down the hallway.  The explosion would not damage the ship extensively, of course, but the hallway would probably be impassable.

Bulma ran as fast as she could back toward the holding wing, where she hoped to find Brolli still alive.

 


	17. Chapter Sixteen - Da'shemm

**_Da’shemm_ **

**“Surprise”**

 

 

Furiza felt his pulse quicken almost immediately with the vibration.  An explosion, he thought without question.  Somewhere in the east wing of the ship...  A few of his officers grunted in concern, and one turned to face him.  With a nearly imperceptible nod, Furiza indicated that someone should investigate.  The officer nodded, spewing acidic saliva as he shouted orders to idle guards standing near the entrance of the bridge.  Furiza shifted in his chair and tapped a few buttons on its arm; the bridge was getting too warm for his tastes, and he adjusted the temperature.

Probably by now, he suspected, the female Chikyuu-jin had betrayed him.  It had become evident to him that even though he had promised her many things in return for her loyalty, the creature was too like those filthy Saiya-jin to ever abandon them completely.  She only lacked the tail and physical strength really; otherwise she was a match through and through for their primeval mentality.  Their stinking, warm-blooded bodies...  Furiza shuddered and turned the temperature down one more notch.

With Vejiita-sei destroyed and its prince and most powerful warrior in captivity, Furiza’s preparations for Videon domination appeared to have begun with smooth ferocity.  But the explosion worried him...  What had she done?  He had expected Bulma-sha to lose her will completely and allow herself to be controlled by the monkey Saiya-jin, but how far had she gone in her quest to save that monster, Brolli?  What steps had she taken to free that hot-blooded little bastard Vejiita from his ki-dampening cell?  Furiza felt a suspicious snarl come crawling up his throat as the guards returned.

“Divine Emperor!”  One of them knelt before him.  “An explosion, Sire, in the med dock.  The two techs who had been preparing rejuvenation tanks are dead.”

“An accident?”  Furiza asked quietly, tapping a frigid finger against his sharp front teeth.

“It appears, Divine One.  The techs were not otherwise injured but for the fatal pulse damage from the tanks’ power cores.”

“Send a few investigators, nonetheless.” Furiza told them, and rose from his chair.

The guard saluted, and left.  Furiza stalked toward the vid screen and stared out into the vast, starry sky of the Videon.  He watched the Saiya-jin war ship Kuroah and cursed under his breath...  He had underestimated the Chikyuu-jin, but he would not underestimate those brainless monkeys.

“ _Kallak_ ,” he said to his colonel, who approached him with a salute.  “Inform General Shak-za that we will be turning our attention toward the mother ship.  The Saiya-jin will not attack from Kuraoh...  No...  The bastards learn quickly.  You see, _Kallak_?  Even monkeys can be taught.”

The officer chuckled and agreed, saluting again before he turned to leave.  Furiza inhaled the frosty air around him and called the officer again.

“Before you do that...  Find Bulma-sha.  I’m sure you’ll find her near the holding wing.  Bring her to me, please.”

 

#

 

Bulma stifled her breath as the Aisu-jin guard stared her down.

“ _Ri-shal’lak--!  ...Shafuri sha-za...!_ ”  Though she barely understood the creature, she could gather by its tone and by picking out certain words Iriyon had taught her that she was not allowed in this section of the holding wing.  Probably it was because Brolli’s aura was so volatile that the littlest disturbance could mean impending doom for all of them.

“I have numbing agent,” she stuttered feebly in Aisugo.  The guard snarled at her.  “I will speak to him,” she said, referring to Brolli, “for Furiza-lak.”

The guard spat a few more words to her about the importance of security, then swiped a hand across its spittle covered lips.  The creature seemed to have conceded though, because it reached toward the key pad -- access to Brolli’s cell.  Bulma’s chest swelled gently with determination.

But the pride died quickly when she heard other voices calling urgently down the corridor.  They shouted at the guard to apprehend her.  Gods...  This meant that Furiza had already anticipated her treachery.  How she had prayed for more time!  When the guard looked on her with sudden realization, Bulma acted quickly.  She drew the pulse gun.  Eight charges left -- !

The pulse traveled quickly to the chest of the guard, and the monster shuddered violently against the wall behind it, dead in seconds.  The two guards rushing down the corridor had already begun to shriek with fury and had charged their plasma rifles.  Bulma ducked as the first charge from one of their guns flurried by, hot as magma.  The air around her surged with heat, and she held her breath.

As the other guard readied its first charge, Bulma fired her pulse gun again.  It hit the gun of the guard who had already fired.  But before she had a moment to curse in frustration at her poor aim the pulse bounced fluidly off of the swirling core of the plasma gun and directly into the other guard’s temple.  The Aisu-jin’s body seemed to lose all control then, and it cried out in pain.  This was different, she observed.  The dying guard clutched its head and fell to the floor.  Bulma watched with horrified amazement as viscous purple fluid dribbled from his eyes and nose.  Aisu-jin blood?

The guard who still stood, watching the other die what looked to be a horrible death, was frantically attempting to recharge its plasma rifle:  to no avail.  Bulma watched curiously for a fraction of a moment before she stood, straightened her spine, and aimed directly at the struggling guard.  The Aisu-jin shrieked once more as if to lament that it had tried to depend on technology instead of ki manipulation, and lunged toward her.  Bulma fired.

The guard dropped to the floor when the pulse hit it in the chest, and it was still.  Bulma, still marveling at her own skill with a weapon, crept closer to the body of the guard who had been hit by her errant fire.  She stood over it, observing its skull from a short distance.  Until now, she had never actually observed what her pulse gun could do to its victim; she had only assumed its effects based on the physics of its make-up.  And of course, the four Aisu-jin she had already shot directly with the gun had died as she expected.  Though she knew nothing of Aisu-jin genetics, all living creatures indeed must have a brain and the pulse was designed to create a surge in synaptic activity that would trigger immediate rigid paralysis.  This of course would cause death, and the pulse was strong enough to cause it almost instantly.

But, gazing at the skull of the one who had been hit by accident, Bulma was amazed.  She lifted her boot and nudged its shiny white head gently.  Bulma gasped as her boot left a small indentation in the side of his skull.  She fell backward over the second guard’s body and stared in wonder.  Had the squishing noise been its skull?  She crawled back over toward its body and tried desperately to control her breathing.

Bulma reached out and poked the guard’s skull with her gun.  She stifled a cry when the gun left another indentation, and more of what appeared to be Aisu-jin blood oozed from its lifeless eyes.  Great, merciful gods...  The pulse had liquefied its skull.  But why?  Because it had hit the plasma core of the other’s gun?  And then she remembered how the second guard had not been able to recharge.

Bulma scrambled back to the other gun and wrenched it free of the dead guard’s hands.  Observing it, she saw that the core had gone dark.  Had a mere bio-electric pulse wave stolen all the energy from the plasma core?  It was the only explanation and yet Bulma was terrified to believe such a thing.  She dropped the gun and shakily pushed herself to her feet.  Once Bulma had caught her breath, she rushed back toward Brolli’s cell and the guard who had collapsed there.

Now that the monster was dead there was no way to know his override codes for the cell lock.  But Bulma had seen electronic keys on several of the guards who merely used it instead of a code.  She prayed that this one had the same device as she searched him.  He wore a utility belt full of small weapons, and Bulma heaved his body on its stomach to search the rest of it.  She grinned with relief as she recognized the key, a small rectangular object with glowing green tubes protruding.

Bulma stood shakily and opened the lock panel on the wall.  There was a slot for the key, and she pushed her find into it only to see the control panel light up.  Bulma closed her eyes and whispered a final prayer to whatever gods were listening, then reached up and saw that her hands were clammy with sweat.  She pressed the override key...

The panel blipped and sounded a warning that the door was opening, and it flashed a brilliant green.  Bulma laughed softly with release and retrieved the key from the panel.  She stepped into the cell and let the door swish shut behind her.

From the doorway, she could see Brolli laid out on a med stretcher.  He had been placed on his stomach, and on his bare back Bulma could see burns from where the plasma fumes had come in contact with his skin.  Vejiita probably had not suffered these, as he had been wearing a battle suit.  Even now she could see what she had feared ever since seeing Brolli alive after the attack; he had been the most severely injured, and was probably still incapable of walking let alone ki manipulation.  For a moment she felt pity for him.  Brolli was the strongest Saiya-jin in the known galaxy, and here he lay:  prostrate on his stomach and unconscious.  Useless to anyone...

Bulma searched the room quickly and spotted an empty container that had once contained vials of reviving serum.  They had used all of them on Brolli before he finally woke, she remembered.  Though by the time she had last seen him the poisoning had worn off; he had been barely alive or cognizant of anything but anger.  She wondered what would happen now...

Hurrying, Bulma picked up the empty container and placed it by the med stretcher.  She reached into her battered, dirty tunic and found the vials of numbing agent.  He must be awake though, before she could use it.  She did not guess that she would need reviving serum, so to search for more would be fruitless.  Bulma crept closer to his body and reached out.  Perhaps if she could only shake him a bit.

She gasped when Brolli’s arm shot out from his side and gripped her wrist painfully.  Bulma instinctively gripped his hand in return to try and pry it loose.  She was rewarded with a groan and movement from the med stretcher.  Bulma gasped again in pain as his groan turned into a deep growl.

“Brolli!”  She hissed.  “Brolli, it’s me!  Let go--!”

The Kassha’hal stirred and thrust his other arm underneath himself so he could attempt to push up.  He managed to twist himself toward her, but his grip had not loosened.  She clawed at his hand.  Though she could see that his open eyes were now full of anger and even fear, recognition flitted through his volatile gaze.

“ _Shall’la?_ ” His voice was a ragged whisper.  Bulma nodded, and saw something else dart around the corners of his mouth.  It was not anger.  His grip on her arm slackened, and he collapsed crookedly back onto the med stretcher.  Bulma reached for the empty container she’d found and held it under his head.

Presently, Brolli vomited a milky fluid into the container and groaned again.  Bulma waited until she was sure he had settled and set the container a few feet away.  Hurriedly, she reached into her tunic and retrieved one of the numbing agent vials.

“Brolli?  If you hold still I can ease your pain a little.”  Her voice was gentler than she would have liked it to be, and she bit her bottom lip.  Brolli’s brow creased, and though his face was still pressed against the stretcher, he frowned.

“Ease my pain?”  Now there was a despairing smile.  “You’ll have to...  try very hard.”  He winced, and Bulma guessed that it was because every time he moved the ki dampening orbs twisted a new kind of pain through his body.  Brolli’s aura was too volatile.  How could she control it?

Bulma reached out for him and pushed a stiff lock of hair away from his ear.  She applied a few drops of the numbing agent behind his ear, and then retrieved her bioScan.  Perhaps if she could get a crude reading of his power level, she may be able to coach him out of the room without much pain.  A reading would be difficult without a scouter, though...  Brolli growled low in his throat and shifted a bit on the stretcher.

“Brolli...”  Bulma kept her voice low.  “Listen to me!  I have to get you out of this cell.  The Aisu-jin are--!”

Startled, Bulma choked on her words as Brolli darted from the stretcher.  He pounded her back against the far wall of the cell, his breath ragged in his chest.  Bulma guessed, through her panic, that the numbing agent had made his pain bearable enough to remember how much he wanted to kill her.

“The Aisu-jin--!”  Brolli gasped.  “Your cohorts in betrayal, _Shall’la?_ ”

“I am no one’s cohort!”  Bulma told him, glaring through her fear that he would strangle her before they had a chance to escape.

“You make good play of it-- _agh!_ ”  Brolli raged at her, but through his anger she could see the pain weakening his grasp already.  His arm shook as it held her by her collarbone against the wall.  Bulma reached out as far as she could and snagged a handful of his hair.

“If you don’t listen to me we’re both doomed!  The Aisu-jin are after _me_ now!  No matter what you may think of my actions, if you don’t get out of here with me Furiza will make us both wish we were already dead.”

Brolli pushed against her once more even as she tugged at his hair.  His eyes flashed a brilliant blue for only a fleeting second, and he cried out in pain.  Brolli’s arm released her, and Bulma went crashing onto the hard metal floor beneath her.  She gasped at the shock it sent up her spine, and writhed for a moment before pushing herself to her feet.

“Idiot!”  She hissed through residual pain.  “If you don’t control the _jal’a,_ you’ll die!  This entire wing dampens your aura.  I know you can control it, so do it now or I’ll kill you myself!”  In desperation, she stole the pulse gun back from her tunic and pressed it against his temple.

Brolli growled again and fell to one knee, grudgingly.  He gripped her free arm as he did so, and Bulma had to steady herself so she would not lose her footing again.  In the silence, all she could hear was his ragged breathing, and finally a sad and ache-ridden laugh.  Bulma pressed the gun harder into his temple, as she had done to Vejiita.  The Kassha’hal gazed up at her finally, all traces of blue gone from his eyes.

“Kill me now, _Shall’la._   Save Furiza the trouble...”  In his voice she heard something she’d never heard before:  defeat.  She gripped a handful of his hair again.

“Get up, the gods damn you!  Get up!!”  Her voice was damp and dead in the cell, but even she could hear the desperate plea contained in it.  Brolli squinted at her.

“This time, you really want to live.  Don’t you?”  He asked her.

“I swear, Brolli,” Bulma told him, “I give your god Vash’halla my soul if you can find the strength to walk out of this cell with me!  I am your only hope for survival!”

She could scarce believe the words that came from her mouth.  Could she really be so desperate to save the monsters she had once hated more than feared?  The animals responsible for the death of her planet?  Her home?  With painful resignation, she knew it was true.  In them, she saw her only hope for belonging.  Her only hope for some kind of affection...  Some kind of love -- terrible as it may be.  Vejiita’s words echoed in her mind:  _How many times did it happen on your own world, Bulma?  Did you condemn your people as you condemn us?_   Had she looked away--?

Brolli had reached up for the hand that pointed her pulse gun at his head, and was grasping her wrist with real indignation.  He pushed it away, and Bulma could only watch, remembering a time when this same creature before her had granted her a freedom she desired more than anything.  Bulma felt the weight of anger and resentment lift, if only for a moment, and she knelt beside him.

“Brolli,” she said quietly.  “Get up.  Walk out of this cell and help me.  I don’t ask you to trust me--I _beg_ you.  I have no reason, no desire, to want anything else of you.”

She remembered suddenly that Vejiita had told her she _had_ given up everything for revenge.  And without knowing how, all that she had given up had gotten her nothing but the icy presence of Aisu-jin breathing down her neck.  Bulma clenched her jaw with bitter realization.  Brolli looked at her again, this time with sympathy.  Bulma still clung to his hair and tugged on it roughly, shaking her head.  Even now she could not accept his pity.  The hand that held the pulse gun lay limply at her side, and Brolli reached for the other.

“If only you knew how long I’ve waited for you to beg...”  He said.

To Bulma’s surprise, his mouth cracked a smile.  She saw that his eyes and mouth were still swollen just a bit from the plasma poisoning, and without thinking Bulma released his hair and studied the black-brown eyes of the Kassha’hal.  How had she let him fall in love with her?  However brutish, had he deserved the same heartache she had suffered?  Bulma cupped his cheek.  On some buried, subconscious level, Bulma knew she would give anything to have back the life she’d known with him.  Brolli had taken her face in both hands.

“ _Shall’la_...”  He whispered.  And this time he meant it.

When he kissed her, she could feel the weakness in him.  That the Kassha’hal would let himself betray a disadvantage--that he would let it overpower him, was terrifying.  Even Bulma’s residual desire for him was overpowered by her need for survival.  She pushed at him, and was startled more when his body wavered beneath her resistance.

“Brolli...?”  Bulma prayed to whoever was listening that he would hear the sincerity in her voice.  Finally, wonderfully, Brolli stretched out his hand to her and looked away.

“If you help me, perhaps I will walk.  My legs are still...”

“Yes, I know.”  Bulma told him.  She took his outstretched hand and watched him begin to struggle to his feet.  “You will walk.  You _will_.”

 

#

 

Brolli’s voice caught in his throat as they continued down the holding wing corridor.  Bulma wondered just how painful it was for him to move.  Even after she’d applied the numbing agent, it seemed as though his poisoning had affected him more deeply than had Vejiita’s.  She could tell from the feel of his skin that he still had a fever, and when he had finally stood straight--besting her with his near seven foot height--she reached again for the bioScan in her tunic.

“Hold still just a moment.”  She said, reaching up to place the scanner under his ear.  Brolli’s breath was heavy, and his eyes fluttered a bit with the effort it had taken to stand up and walk this small distance.  When the bioScan had finished its reading, she gazed at it.

“Gods...”  Bulma whispered.  “Your body temperature is nearly one hundred eight.”

She’d noted years ago that a Saiya-jin’s normal body temperature fluctuated from around one hundred degrees to almost one hundred five.  But Brolli, especially at the height of his transformation had topped the bioScan reading at one hundred eleven.  At this temperature, she realized that she could tell how elevated his levels of _jal’a_ were.  It was no wonder he was still in such pain.

Slowly, but steadily, they continued down the corridor toward the cell where she had left Vejiita.  Bulma watched the Kassha’hal support most of his weight against the wall to his right; she would never have been able to support him entirely.  His strength was returning, she thought with a measure of relief.  Eventually his sweat would cleanse the rest of his body from the toxic plasma, but the icy air of the ship was making it difficult to induce perspiration.  Brolli’s grip on her shoulder tensed.

“ _Vash’halla!_ ”  He spat with pain, and Bulma saw that a surge of ki had washed over his face.  They stopped walking.

“Damn you!”  She cursed him.  “Stop letting it surge!  I’ve seen you control it, Brolli.”  Bulma tugged on his arm.  “Keep going!”

After what had seemed like almost an hour, they reached Vejiita’s cell.  Bulma released Brolli’s arm, and he backed up against the wall to avoid falling.  What a fool Furiza had been to give her the override codes for this cell, she thought.  For all of his wit, he had not seen through her enough to know how or when she would betray him.  Only that she would...

Bulma flicked open the control panel and entered the manual override.  The keys flashed a familiar green, and the cell door swished open.  She gazed into the cell, but did not see Vejiita.  She’d kill him if he had escaped without her.  But perhaps the worst had happened; had Furiza gotten to him before she could?

From the ceiling of the cell, she watched as Vejiita coasted down and settled on both feet.  He’d been perched up there, hiding, she realized.  His arms were crossed across his powerful chest, and one eyebrow was raised in suspicious inquiry.    Bulma tilted her chin to the side and squinted at his irritating entrance.  Vejiita chuckled.

“I was beginning to think you’d never come, Bulma-kalzan.”

 

#

 

Onboard the Kuraoh, Aash’an Raditsu paced nervously across the dock.  His father’s pods should have been here by now.  He stopped and tapped a few fingers on the tensed muscles of his arm.  His officers were waiting nearby with looks of apparent trepidation, but none said a word.  None even looked his way as he turned irritably toward a small podium and portable vid screen.  _Gods_ , if he could afford to he’d beat one of their heads in just to alleviate his exasperation.

“ _What_ in the name of Kalahd’Nihr is taking so long?”  He snapped aloud and gripped the sides of the podium.

The officers shifted, startled.  As if on cue, the vid screen Raditsu had been gripping came to life.  A call was coming through--it was the dock operator.  Raditsu touched the “Accept” key on screen and sighed aloud.

“Give me good news or I’ll tear your face off, Daikon!”  He told him.

“ _Suukah_ , Aash’an!  Intergalactic pod dock will commence in fifteen seconds.  It is Squad #5, Aash’an.”

“Thank the gods...”  Raditsu heard the officers behind him offer prayers of relief.  He ground his teeth together and swiveled to face them.  “Shut up!  If you think we are saved you may yet be wrong!”  He reminded them.  They were silent.

Finally, the sealed lock of the inner docking doors opened.  The sound echoed, booming down the long and vast corridors of the dock.  The pods had settled into the depressurizing divot and hissed when their doors slid open.  Raditsu, before he had become an officer, had spent many a grueling mission cooped up in intergalactic pods.  He could see the remaining discomfort on the faces of the squad members as they disengaged themselves from the tiny seats.  Bardock was the first to step out, and he made his way without hesitation towards Raditsu.  He did not salute.

“ _Jya’nehm_ ,” he said with a grin. “My son, the honor is unexpected.”

Raditsu allowed a smile to slip from the corner of his smirking mouth.  He and his father were the same height now.  The last time Raditsu had seen him in person, he still had not reached his father’s gaze perfectly.  His twin brothers, who were still taller than both of them, approached with as much swagger as their father.  But both saluted him.  Raditsu returned the gesture.

“If we could have had this reunion under better circumstances...” Raditsu began.  Bardock shifted his weight and held up a palm.

“That is a discussion for later.”  He told his son.  The twelve other members of Squad #5 had come up behind him.  When Bardock crossed his arms again, his men saluted Raditsu.  Turles and Kakkarot cracked their knuckles.

“Where is Furiza?”  They asked in unison.  Raditsu chuckled.

“If you’ll follow me to the briefing deck, I’d be more than happy to show you.”

The Squad #5 soldiers sneered and chuckled their delight, and some even licked their lips.  Raditsu turned and motioned to his officers, who saluted and began to follow.  The warriors behind him could already smell the violence to come.

The brief moment of giddy blood-fever was abruptly interrupted by a transmission on the east wall of the dock.  Raditsu squinted in the direction of the shrill noise, and then raised an eyebrow.  This communicator was part of the maintenance channel and was rarely used unless work was being done on the dock itself.  Raditsu could hear the awkward shuffle of his father and the squad.

“Aash’an...?”  One of his officers spoke hesitantly.  Raditsu held up a palm.

“I will answer it.”  He answered, surprised at the quiet candor of his own voice.

When he stepped over to the communicator, Raditsu wondered who had sent a transmission through this channel and whether or not the message would be welcome.  He paused for only the space of a few breaths before lifting his hand to the touch screen.  After touching the “Accept” key again, Raditsu shut his eyes.

“ _Shallan_...?”  The end note of his voice was dripping with sarcastic curiosity.  The voice that responded sent ripples of shock coursing through his spine.

“ _Suukah,_ Aash’an Raditsu.”

Raditsu’s eyes shot open.  So numbed by fury was he at the sound of her voice that he reached out and gripped the vid screen with both hands.  The veins in his hands and arms swelled with the pressure of restraint.

“Bulma-kalzan,” he growled deeply.  The sound was barely recognizable as a voice.  “What an unmitigated pleasure!  Tell me why I shouldn’t jam this frequency right now and send a prayer for your slow painful death at Aisu-jin hands--!”

“Normally I would invite the chance at a verbal spar, darling, but I’m sure there are more important matters at hand.”  Bulma’s voice had lost none of its venom, but Raditsu noticed a small change in its candor; as though someone had reached inside her breast and carved out a handful of the biting insolence that had once resided there.

“Aash’an Raditsu,” a new voice startled some of the ire from his throat.  Bulma had stepped aside slightly from the vid screen to allow the voice’s owner some visibility.

“ _Zarshi-kalan!_ ”  Raditsu confirmed the prince’s appearance.  Relief seemed to wash over the dock, and surprised murmurs came from the groups of men behind him.  Even the members of Squad #5 seemed to shift comfortably.

“It is indeed a relief to hear your voice, Sire.”  He said.

“I am indebted to your loyalty and support, Aash’an,” the prince replied, “now you will make good on your oath to my crown.”

“Without hesitation, Zarshi-kalan.”  Raditsu told him.  “I have enlisted the help of Vejiita-sei’s most feared warriors.”

“Ah...”  The prince breathed deeply before nodding.  “Squad #5?  You must convey my gratefulness to your father, but only after he gets me off this filthy, freezing hell hole.”

Raditsu grinned lopsidedly and thanked Vash’halla for this small measure of mercy.  So the prince was not so badly injured that he had lost reason or purpose.  No trace of Vejiita-Zarshi’s personality had been lost either.  Suddenly Raditsu’s grin fell.

“Prince Vejiita, what of the Kassha’hal?  What of Brolli?  Does he live?”

Vejiita’s eyes shifted downward, and then to his left, where Raditsu could still see Bulma’s searing blue eyes.  She squinted and peered back into the vid screen.  Raditsu felt his grip on the screen contract again at the sight of her poisonous mouth.

“The Kassha’hal lives, Aash’an,” Bulma told him shortly.  More murmurs of relief made their way through the soldiers behind him.  “But he is badly injured, and weakened by plasma poisoning.  His metabolic rate is slower than a pyuce rat in hibernation, but I can only fix that with Saiya-jin tech.  The Aisu-jin are far too alien in biology for me to make any use of their med tech--!”

“Can you save him or not?”  Raditsu snapped, trying desperately to let anger to the surface rather than trust or camaraderie.

“I can,” Bulma said, “but I will need your help.”

Raditsu sighed a great sigh and let his chin drop toward the floor for a moment.  He glanced backward at his father and studied the look on Bardock’s face.  Kakkarot and Turles had both crossed their arms in perfect mirror image of one another, eyebrows raised on both brows.  Raditsu pondered this dilemma.

To trust Bulma meant that everything he knew about her to be true:  every lie, every deception and every treachery that lie tangled within the silken web of blue hair on her head would need to be ignored.  Every splintered memory of her sweet voice, the one that had broken his steel heart, would need to be forgotten.  Worst of all, her betrayal would be forgiven for a space of time -- much longer than she deserved.

But without her help, this time...  This time the fate of his people was placed very neatly in the palm of her hand.  He growled quietly and looked back to the vid screen.  Bulma’s eyes did not look quite so wicked this time.

“Very well.”  Raditsu consented.  “Tell me where to begin.”

“Good!”  Bulma’s voice turned urgent.  “Then you must listen.  And you must listen carefully, Raditsu.”

 


	18. Chapter Seventeen - Kassha'hal

**_Kassha’hal_ **

**“Chosen One”**

 

  “I am going to disable the fleet ship’s cloaking systems.” Bulma explained.  “By now the Aisu-jin already realize that you will not attack from _Kuroah_ ; they will cloak the _Shafuri_ and make direct plasma attacks on the Kuroah before you can even mobilize the warriors on the fleet ship.”

“How the hell would they know that?”  Vejiita snapped through his teeth.

Bulma had been sifting through an emergency kit in the wall of the dock on which they now sat.  She stopped what she was doing and leaned back on her heels.  Vejiita’s blood boiled as she grinned out of the corner of her mouth; her bottom lip had begun to swell where he had bitten it.

“They know, Vejiita-Zarshi, because the Aisu-jin are much more intelligent than you give them credit for.  Just because you can’t understand their culture or their language doesn’t make them brainless idiots!  That’s the mistake you’ve made since the beginning--!”

“Perhaps the same can be said of you...”

Brolli’s voice was gaining strength, Vejiita thought with a measure of mirth.  His words were scathingly clear even over the din of engine noise on the dock.  Vejiita glanced over Bulma’s shoulder to where Brolli had crumpled himself moments earlier.  The three of them were hidden temporarily by a hulking star rover; three or four of the vessels were in this corner of the dock.  The Kassha’hal was hunched over, back to the wall, his once powerful arms hanging limply at his sides.  His aura still hung in the air, unstable.

By now Bulma had turned to look at him, and Vejiita wondered what her expression said.  Brolli’s face revealed nothing.  Vejiita found himself shocked when Bulma looked away from Brolli and said nothing.  She merely continued stuffing the emergency bag full of supplies.  After zipping the pack shut and sealing it, she stood and pushed a few loose tendrils of hair away from her eyes and nose.

"We've lingered here too long.  They will be coming…"

Still reeling from Bulma's unexpected silence, Vejiita hardly had time to realize what she had said before the heavy dock gates began to open.  The noise rumbled deep in his belly, and Bulma hurried over to Brolli's prostrate form.  When the doors parted enough to let light cascade into the otherwise poorly lit hangar, the Aisu-jin voices came.  Three, or four of them?  Vejiita was dismayed to realize that he could not tell; his senses had taken a beating since the poisoning, no doubt.  Once the doors had opened completely, and the group’s leader began shouting, Vejiita’s eyes popped open.

“ _Vash’halla!_ ”  He cursed as he fell to the floor.  There had to be at least twenty of them.  A few searing plasma beams cascaded over his head.  Sweat broke immediately on his forehead, and Vejiita scuttled over between the legs of the star rover.  The Aisu-jin squad leader spat something at his warriors.  Vejiita could not understand, but he was clear on the next words from its mouth.

“We can smell you, stinking monkeys...”  It taunted.  “Come out, _zallak sha!_ ”

Vejiita’s upper lip curled and he glanced over toward the direction where Bulma and Brolli were hunched over.  Bulma was frantically pressing more numbing agent underneath Brolli’s ear, and then on the back of his neck.  If even one of the two Saiya-jin were to charge his jal’a, the dampening orbs would tear his tendons from his bones.  Vejiita cursed silently; it would only take one Saiya-jin to wipe out the number of Aisu-jin on this dock, he thought.  But with plasma rifles aimed at them and no use of the jal’a, it was almost hopeless.

Without warning, a small _blip_ of noise shot from where Bulma was crouched.  Vejiita’s eyes narrowed with confusion as he watched her fire that small pulse gun she’d held to his temple not long ago.  A slow, dying wave of noise emanated from beyond the star rovers.  One of the Aisu-jin shouted in surprise, and there was a brief flurry of activity.

Vejiita peered through the legs of the rover and strained to see the ugly white lizards from his hiding place.  Two of them were conversing in angry tones, and it appeared that they were trying to make one plasma rifle function -- to no avail.  Bulma fired again from her position next to Brolli.

And again, and again!  Vejiita was beginning to wonder why none of the Aisu-jin appeared to be injured, but were flustered beyond measure after each shot Bulma fired.  Finally, after a period of silence from her gun, and angry deliberation from the Aisu-jin, Bulma appeared to his far right.

“Vejiita!”  She hissed.  “Now!  You can attack them now!”

Vejiita squinted at her, and then back through the rover legs at the Aisu-jin.  The lizards were spitting and snarling at the sound of her hushed voice; they had heard.

“Have you gone completely mad?”  Vejiita hissed back.  “They’ll blow my heart out!  Shut up!”

“The rifles are non-functional!  Vejiita...!”  Bulma’s voice was urgent, yet typically defiant, and so before Vejiita could find himself irritated, he obeyed.

The Aisu-jin were confused, if only for a brief second, as Vejiita rolled out from behind the leg of the star rover.  The leader shouted in surprise and pointed a long, white finger at him.

“ _Furi-shallak!_ The monkey shows himself!”

Vejiita smirked just before rushing.  The brainless lizard appeared to be preparing to defend itself.  But, Vejiita realized as he jabbed his elbow into its neck, it was unable to perform simple combat moves or defense posture; the bloody things had become so dependent on tech that they could no longer even defend themselves.

The Aisu-jin leader gasped and choked a few times before Vejiita leapt on his shoulders and twisted, hard, with his knees.  A few of the other soldiers cursed and spat as the monster’s neck snapped underneath the strain.  Vejiita coasted down from its body and watched as the black eyes around him fluttered open and shut like window shades.  They were afraid.

He was still able to make use of his strength and speed!  Vejiita again charged between two of the ugly bastards and caught both of them by the necks.  He threw both to the floor and squeezed until he knew both windpipes would pop.  The monsters stopped wriggling.  As he stood, he counted about twelve more of them.  Only this time, they watched him with trepidation.

“What’s wrong, tech perverts?”  Vejiita mocked.  “Useless without your guns?”

They couldn’t understand him of course, the stupid ingrates, and without their leader they were effectively useless.  One of them spoke in quick, quiet tones to its neighbor.  Vejiita could not recognize the words.

“No!”  Bulma shouted from behind the star rover.  “They’ll call more of them!  The com cell, Vejiita--!”

Vejiita turned back just in time to see the Aisu-jin who had spoken holding the small com device in its shiny white hand.  He growled and made way to charge again, but was miserable surprised by a quick, stinging shot on his leg.  He cursed.  An Aisu-jin to his left had fired a stunner, unaffected by whatever magic Bulma had casted on their plasma guns.

His vision blurred, and he would have cursed more if his lips had not begun to hang loosely away from his teeth.  His body lagged and hit the floor with a sickening _thud_ ; the stunner had made quick work of him.  Despite his inability to move, Vejiita felt the fury well in him like a great ball of whirling flame.  _Fucking slimy bastards!_

Bulma had emerged from behind the star rover.  She was pointing her small gun at the remaining Aisu-jin soldiers and was spitting their harsh language at them.  Vejiita’s fingers itched to move, and his ached to defend himself.  Eleven Aisu-jin were poised at his feet, and the other aimed his stunner towards Bulma.  Stupid Chikyuu-jin…

She was still screaming in Aisu-go when the flash came.  Vejiita guessed that she had not even noticed it, or even realized what had happened until the Aisu-jin with the stunner was dangling a foot from the ground.  If Vejiita could have blinked, he would have – instead the drool began to leak from his drooping mouth as he gazed in wonder at the scene before him.

The Aisu-jin struggled briefly, before Brolli’s hand squeezed and crushed the heavy plate of its head.  Its arms went slack, and the stunner clanked to the sheet metal beneath its feet.  Brolli was still squeezing, Vejiita noticed, when he began to roar with pain.  The Kassha’hal’s aura was soaring, his jal’a rose so swiftly that Vejiita thought he could feel the dock begin to shake.  He had used quite a bit of energy in his swift bolt to kill the Aisu-jin… To the very end, his love for that damned female was his only downfall.

“Brolli, stop!”  Bulma shouted to him, her voice strangely hysterical.  Vejiita felt his leg twitch; the stunner would wear off in about thirty seconds.  But it thirty seconds, Brolli’s aura may have already burned the Kassha’hal to a cinder.

Bulma had dropped her gun, and she now scrambled toward the stunner that lay at Brolli’s feet.  Vejiita felt the nerves in his arms begin to crackle with life once more, and as he struggled to keep his own jal’a from exploding with his efforts, he felt the floor shake again.  Brolli’s voice was reaching a snarl, and as Vejiita finally managed to lift his head the Kassha’hal’s feet had left the ground.  The Aisu-jin behind him were frozen with fear.

“BROLLI!”  The Chikyuu-jin cried.  “Control it!  Control it, damn you or I’ll stun your fucking brain stem!  I won’t let you die here--!!”

Vejiita pushed himself to his feet.  His heels were electric with the pain of his reborn nerves, but he spun on them to see that the remaining Aisu-jin soldiers were backing up toward the hangar door.  He looked toward Brolli again and saw that the jal’a had erected a shield around the Kassha’hal.  Vejiita stumbled toward Bulma and gripped her wrists.

“Don’t fire!”  He shouted to her.  “The jal’a will bounce it back!”

Bulma’s eyes came to him then, and in that instant Vejiita saw the creature she had truly become.  Her brows were arched with terror and despair, with eyes underneath that swam with the sad realization that she could do nothing to help.  She gritted her teeth.

“No…”  The Saiya-go word was apparent on her lips.  “He’ll die here!”  She shrieked.  “The orbs will tear the muscle from his bones!!”  Bulma dropped the stunner and turned to him.  She gripped his shoulders and shook with what little strength she had.

“Save him!!  Save him, Vejiita!  All the gods you must not let him die here!”  Those same tears, the ones that had unexpectedly drawn out the shreds of pity that lay dormant in his soul, streamed down her face and into the dip of her neck.  Another _boom_ shook the dock and rocked the two of them on their feet.  Vejiita watched Brolli for only a second.  The Kassha’hal’s fists tightened, and he screamed again.

Vejiita turned away from Bulma, from her frantic eyes, and quickly scanned the ceiling.  When he could see nothing apparent, he rushed over to the cowering Aisu-jin soldiers and gripped one by the sides of its cool, smooth head.

“Where is it?!”  He shouted in stilted Aisu-go.  “Where is the--?  _Fuck!_ Where is the dock’s orb control unit?”

The mechanical lizard in front of him snarled and licked its lips.  Vejiita squeezed just lightly on its head, and it chuckled evilly.  But it could not hide its empty black eyes long enough; Vejiita saw it glance almost imperceptibly off to its far left.  He looked behind him, but saw nothing obvious.

“Where is it you piece of bloated flesh?”  Vejiita growled furiously in Saiya-go.  “Tell me before I squeeze your brains out of your ears!!”

The animal in front of him chuckled again and spat cruelly into his face.  Vejiita felt the viscous, blood red spit inch down his cheek.  Behind him, Brolli’s voice rose, and Vejiita remembered the night he had transformed… He squeezed more tightly on the monster’s head, but it did not say anything.  It only sneered and grinned at him until he could see its pointed, sharp teeth.

Vejiita squeezed again hard, until the bastard’s skull cracked under the pressure.  The monster’s smile died for good, and he let its body drop to the floor.  Even as the others growled and spat at him, he turned to the direction where the dead one’s eyes had flickered only for a second.  Above them, the ceiling rose to a height of approximately one hundred fifty feet.  If Vejiita had use of the jal’a he could fly to its peak in seconds.  As it was he could only look on until his eyes began to dry up with the strain.

Just as he was about to stop, as he was about to look elsewhere, a panel that differed only slightly from its neighbor appeared to him.  Vejiita squinted.  Brolli would not last long.  If this panel was not the orb control unit, surely the Kassha’hal would perish, just as Bulma had said.  His own body would tear him apart from the inside out.  And, as she had said, he could not allow a Saiya-jin to die in such a way.

Which would require more of the jal’a, he wondered briefly?  A short blast would require more energy than to fly, but flight would require a more sustained and steady stream of energy.  The pain would last much longer and would likely kill him as well.  Vejiita ground his teeth together and lifted his arm.

His eyes narrowed until the panel was in full focus and his palm was at just the right angle.  He gathered his wits and his tolerance; he would require much of both.  Vejiita grimaced and let the jal’a gather…

His face went rigid with the beginnings of the pain.  His life force sent pin pricks first to his feet and then upward into his thighs, stabbing at his groin.  Vejiita’s own voice joined Brolli’s for just a moment before the jal’a surged up his torso and tore at his organs.  The dampening orbs fought with the energy in his body as it pushed relentlessly into his shoulders and neck.  Was that…?  Wait… Were there tears now flowing down his cheeks and onto the floor?

Just before the energy dan exploded from his arm, he heard her voice calling his name.  His vision went black for a split second before the burst of jal’a crashed into the panel above them and sent fireworks of its spawn throughout the ceiling of the dock.  Vejiita fell to one knee.

His gasps of pain were drowned out by the deafening _pops_ of a hundred dampening orbs as they exploded and died above them.  The Aisu-jin soldiers were shrieking and escaping through the hangar door.  Surely, after this, more of them would come…

As the sound of the dying orbs began to soften and recede, Vejiita took deep, reenergizing breaths and stood with great effort.  The pain had nearly debilitated him.  Brolli’s cries had stopped, and just as he looked back the Kassha’hal’s arms drooped and he fell back to the floor of the dock with a riotous crash.  He did not move.

Near his body, Bulma struggled to get up.  She coughed feverishly and writhed until Vejiita had sprinted to her side.  He knelt beside her and put one hand beneath her bottom and one under her head.  Her blue hair was muted only by the dust Vejiita’s blast had caused.  She gasped for air and gripped his arms, looking only slightly confused.

“Gods…” she said quietly.  “Holy gods.  What did you do?”

Vejiita felt a smile creeping up on his lips the way a pyuce rat would creep up a pipe.  He felt his fingers tickle underneath the silken, dusted strands of her hair.  He grinned.

“I blew out the fucking dampening orbs, Bulma-kalzan.  What did you expect?”

For a moment, Vejiita saw the astonishment flicker across the bridge between her eyes.  And then, amazingly, the corner of her mouth turned upwards into a smile.  Bulma laughed airily and blinked.  The dust was clearing.

“How did you do it?”  She wondered aloud, shifting in his grip until she was able to turn herself on her knees.  “Theoretically, the pain should have--?  Brolli…”

Vejiita stiffened, and all traces of relief left her face.  Suddenly, he remembered; the _Kassha’hal_ …

“Oh gods…” Bulma whispered, pushing to her feet and hurrying over to Brolli’s crumpled form.  “Gods… he saved my life, the fool.”

Vejiita came to stand beside her, but he was not prepared for the sight he now laid eyes on.  The Kassha’hal Brolli was on his back, legs bent at the knees and off to the side, while his arms lay slack and splayed out to his sides.  If Vejiita had not seen the quick rise and fall of his massive chest, he would have thought the warrior dead.  He watched Bulma’s fingers reach out tentatively.  She pressed a palm to his chest.

“ _Kuso!_ ” She hissed in her native tongue and snatched her fingers back to her own chest.  “His skin is burning.”  Vejiita felt his jaw tighten.

“Will he live?”  His question died as some fragments of blown wire snapped and crackled above them.  When she looked up at him, Bulma reached inside her tunic for the bioScan.  Her expression was unreadable.

“Only if we can get him out of here as soon as possible.  If we don’t make it to engineering before Furiza, we’ll never be in time for Raditsu’s surprise counter!”

Bulma held the bioScan to Brolli’s temple.  As she did so, the Kassha’hal shifted and began to moan quietly.  Vejiita knelt and watched the other Saiya-jin’s face as it began to contort in pain again.  His eyes flickered open and shut.

“ _Vash’halla_ ,” he cursed, but the word was a hushed gasp for breath.  Bulma lifted her eyes from the bioScan reading and set her chin firmly.

“Brolli, you must not move.  I know… I know it hurts but you must try to stay still--!”

As she spoke, the Kassha’hal heaved and coughed until thick globs of blood came dribbling from the corners of his mouth.  Vejiita bowed his head; Brolli would not live if they lingered any longer.  _Where in the name of all the gods was Squad 5--!_

“Gods, Brolli…” Bulma’s voice wavered, and when Vejiita looked at her he saw that real sorrow had replaced the ever present determination in her brow.  “Brolli, you… you’re going to die, dam you!”  The Kassha’hal smiled wanly.

“Am I?”  He paused and turned his head toward Vejiita.  “Zarshi-kalan.  I hope you will forgive my insolence--?”  He coughed again and spat blood down his chest.  Vejiita clenched a fist and imagined that Brolli’s organs had already collapsed from the damage done by the dampening orbs.  Bulma was right – he was going to die.  Vejiita nodded to him.

“Your death is that of a warrior, Kassha’hal.”

Brolli grinned lopsidedly and turned his head to the side, panting.  The silence was then interrupted by what sounded like several ki blasts.  Vejiita’s brow furrowed, and he looked toward the entrance to the hangar.  Bulma started when her bioScan began to _blip_.

“Those are Saiya-jin signatures!”  She said, forgetting that he would already know.  “How can they--!”

“The _kei jal’a_ should counter the rest of the dampening orbs.  It is like artificial energy.”

Vejiita watched as three Aisu-jin soldiers flew flat on their backs and slid, dead as flies, onto the hangar floor.  Their viscous purple blood pooled into the main dock area, and Vejiita sniffed the air instinctively.  It reeked of death.

“I’m tired of killing these bloated sacks of myr cat shit!”

Vejiita couldn’t help but chuckle at the sound of the voices when their owners turned the corner into the dock.  He crossed both arms over his chest and stepped past the remains of a star rover until he saw them.  Bardock’s armor and squad crest were visible even through the remaining dust.

“There aren’t any other sacks of shit on this ship, idiot!”  He snapped at what looked to be one of his sons.  When he caught sight of Vejiita, he saluted but did not bow as his soldiers did.  He grinned ridiculously.

“Vejiita-Zarshi!  This is a pleasure, Sire!”

Vejiita grinned in response, then shifted in place as some residual pain shot through his legs.

“Indeed, Commander.”  He replied.  “What the fuck took so long?”

Bardock stepped toward him over some of the rubble.  He actually looked him up and down, the bastard.  Vejiita raised an eyebrow and waited.  But instead of replying…

“You look like the blood goddess raped you.”  Bardock told him.  The soldiers behind him shifted, probably near hysterics.  Vejiita found enough humor in the situation to chuckle, but he nodded toward Bulma and the fallen warrior.

“Not quite that bad…” he said.  Bardock’s eyes followed his, and all traces of humor left his face.  The Commander stepped forward and motioned for his soldiers, who rose and followed tentatively.

“All the gods,” Bardock whispered gravely.  Vejiita uncrossed his arms and motioned to Bulma.

“We have to get the Chikyuu-jin to engineering.  If you can, hail Raditsu and tell him to hold off his surprise counter until we can get her there; I have a feeling we are already late.”

“We may cross frequencies with the Aisu-jin if we hail, Sire.” Bardock said, his voice still hushed and his eyes still on Brolli.  Vejiita shook his head.

“It’s a chance we may have to take.”

Bardock looked back to him then, his lips came together and he set his jaw.  He nodded brusquely and saluted.  Vejiita went back to Bulma and knelt on the other side of Brolli’s body.  The Kassha’hal was still breathing, but his breath had slowed now – and it appeared that his skin had begun to cool.  Bulma’s hand was pressing against his chest, and she held one massive hand in her own, against her cheek.  Tears had made her face glisten, and her eyes were very far away.

“Bulma-kalzan,” Vejiita said coolly.  Brief recognition flickered across her gaze.  “We must go.”  She shook her head.

“It’s too late now…” She whispered.  “Surely Raditsu has lost faith in my promise.  He will attack.”

“It is NOT too late!”  Vejiita hissed, reaching for the hand she had pressed against Brolli’s chest.  “You are the only one who knows how to disable the cloaking systems!  You will come now!”

“We cannot leave him here!!”  She shouted, her voice raw.  Bardock and his soldiers waited, and watched her.  Bulma turned her face to him, and the pain he saw there was almost enough to crack his resolve.  “We cannot leave him here…”  She repeated, and her voice faded into a sob.

The Kassha’hal’s body shook again with coughing, and now Vejiita could see the bruises on his chest and waist.  The blood would flood his body.  Brolli, though it took much effort, raised his hand to Bulma’s face.  Vejiita did not know if the tenderness he saw was only because of Brolli’s weakness, or if it was genuine.

“ _Shall’la…_ ” He said to her, and his throat was clogged with his blood.  “ _Shall’la…_ How many times will you cry for me?”

Bulma only looked at him and shut her eyes.  Her only words were the tears that dug clean trails across his bloodstained hands.  Vejiita could not decide why the burning in his stomach had nothing to do with his earlier pain; he clenched his jaw and watched Bulma’s mouth shatter again into despair.  She bent over and pressed her face into his shoulder.

“Brolli _please_ , please forgive me.  Forgive me, _Kassha’hal_ …”

Brolli’s lips cracked a smile, and his hand tangled loosely in her hair.  His chest heaved a few more times.  Vejiita thought that the effort to breathe was become quite difficult for the other Saiya-jin.

“I forgive you, _Shall’la_.”  He whispered to her.  “How could I deny you anything?”

Vejiita saw that the words had crushed her.  Her sobs were not quite so loud, but indeed, they were heartrending.  Perhaps, without even trying, it had been Brolli who had broken her.  Not Vejiita…  He looked up to Bardock and nodded toward Bulma.  The Commander came to her and gripped her shoulders.

“No!”  She shrieked, and reached for Brolli.  “No!!  I won’t go!  Leave me here with him!”  Her sorrow and remorse had driven her to hysteria now, Vejiita realized.  And as Bardock hauled her to her feet, Vejiita reached out for her arms and squeezed, hard.

“Listen to me.”  He told her.  She struggled and protested again.  “Listen to me!”  He shook her until she glared back at him, grasping some of what rage still lived inside her.  Vejiita knew then that his desire to survive trumped all others.

“You will go with them, Bulma, and you will de-cloak the Aisu-jin fleet!  You will do it, damn you, or I WILL leave you here to die with the Kassha’hal!”

Some remaining electrical fuses popped and fizzed above them; Bulma’s eyes narrowed, and she stopped her struggle against Bardock.  There was a racking sound below them, and Vejiita realized that it was Brolli’s slow breath.  He looked down at the Kassha’hal.

“ _Shall’la…_ ”  He wheezed.  “Save us now – prove you seek more… More than vengeance.”

Vejiita clenched his fists at his sides.  If he had not been so desperate to get off of this alien ship, he might have chuckled at Brolli’s resilience. Instead he swallowed deeply; if those words would not convince her, nothing would.

When he looked back to her, Vejiita saw that Bulma’s jaw was set in determination.  The warriors to his left shifted anxiously, and the world moved for one brief moment in slow motion.  She looked back to Vejiita and nodded.

He nodded back to her.

“Good.  Now, go.”

Vejiita glanced at Bardock, who saluted and took Bulma by the arm.  She continued to look back at him as they led her from the dock.  Vejiita watched, his palms sweating, until she was out of sight.  Only the sound of Brolli’s labored breathing again brought him back to the present.  He knelt on one knee by the Kassha’hal.

“Zarshi-kalan…”  Brolli’s voice was barely above a whisper.  Vejiita could hear the liquid pooling in his lungs and could smell the blood on his breath.  “You’ll… you’ll save her?”

Vejiita knew the meaning behind the question.  Bulma’s actions had branded her a traitor to the Saiya-jin Empire, and the punishment for such an offense need not even be said.  If Saiya-jin officials apprehended her upon her return to the fleet ship, her sentence would likely be carried out before any kind of trial could take place.  Vejiita took a deep breath.

“I will try.”  He said to Brolli.  “It will be difficult to--?”

“It is my dying wish, Zarshi-kalan…!”  Brolli hissed, and managed to lift his head slightly.  “You would--!  You would grant me this?”  There was a note of urgency in his weak voice that went beyond mere desire.  Brolli’s soul would not rest until he knew there was a chance to save his _Shall’la_ from the damnation of treason.

Vejiita nodded slowly.  He did not know if he could save Bulma; even his plea may fall upon deaf ears.  She was indirectly responsible for the death of his father the king, and he did not know how deep her betrayal had run.  Still, if he could insist on a trial it may yet be possible…

“I will save her, Kassha’hal,” Vejiita said slowly, “I will do all that is in my power to grant you your wish.”  His voice was even, controlled.

The corner of Brolli’s mouth turned up, ever so slightly, and he coughed violently.  Blood oozed again from his mouth and down his chin into the dip of his throat.  He rested his head back on the floor of the hangar.

With one final heave, Brolli’s chest fell.  It did not rise again.  Vejiita reached out to shut the Kassha’hal’s eyes, and bowed his own head in prayer.

“ _Vash’halla ka’balat ten._ ”  _May Vash’halla guide you home._

 


	19. Chapter Eighteen - Kalahd'Nihr

 

**_Kalahd’Nihr_ **

**“The Blood Goddess”**

 

 

The main entrance to engineering folded like paper against Turles’s blast.  Bulma marveled for a mere second at the technology of the _kei jal’a._   Why had they hidden it for so long?  Was that so surprising now?  Turles’s twin, Kakkarot, made a quick, snide comment about his brother’s display.  Bardock snapped.

“Shut up fools!  Wait for the smoke to clear…”  As the words left his mouth, the rest of Squad #5 assumed battle stance, and Bulma thought she could hear the gentle rumble of their growling excitement.  The smoke began to dissipate, and a quiet hissing became audible over the growl.  Bulma saw the gleam of Aisu-jin skulls just as Bardock pushed her to the side.

“Down!!”  He bellowed.

Bulma had enough time to be irritated by the sharp pain that raced down her side as she hit the floor.  But the sound of the jal’a charging and recharging, coupled with the screams and curses from the Aisu-jin and the firing of their plasma rifles drowned out her exasperation.

 _The plasma rifles!_   Bulma reached carefully inside her tunic and felt for the stunner.  She recalled the Aisu-jin at the holding wing when she’d rescued Brolli, and the way the stunner’s pulse had stolen the plasma energy.  She’d employed the same knowledge on the Aisu-jin plasma rifles when Vejiita had taken them down.  Could it be of help now, she wondered?  Bulma squinted and looked up from her prone position.

Bardock was roaring now, and she could see that despite the _kei jal’a_ the Saiya-jin were having difficulty avoiding the plasma blasts.  Carefully, she twisted her body around and inched forward toward the broken door on her elbows.  If the Saiya-jin saw her doing it, they’d surely interfere.  But if she could get a good enough shot…

From here she could see Bardock spitting curses at the Aisu-jin, circling the area and waiting for a good shot while his squad did much the same.  Bulma felt sweat break out over the back of her neck, and the beat of her heart wracked every bone with a shaking pulse.  She _had_ to get to the mainframe.  Since the fall of Chikyuu, she had not wanted so very much to live.  Brolli’s last, desperate attempts to save her did nothing to alleviate her desperation:  her deep remorse.

Slowly, as some dust cleared, Bulma had a clear shot of one Aisu-jin officer and its rifle.  Her blue eyes widened briefly and a stream of sweat inched down her temple.  In an instant she was aiming the stunner directly at the creature’s weapon, and fired it once… twice!  The _blip_ of it was too low to be heard amidst the riot, but satisfaction came from the soft and dimming groan as the plasma rifle deactivated and shut down.

Before she could be discovered, Bulma fired four more shots, each at an armed alien.  With each shot, her lips tightened.  _One…two… three… four!_   And just like that, the only noises were the incredulous voices of the Aisu-jin as they tried in vain to revive their disabled weapons.  Bulma felt her upper lip quirk in satisfaction. 

“What the fuck…?”  Bardock’s voice echoed in the quiet hall.  His head turned swiftly, knowingly toward her.  The look was not one that she expected; it was concerned, and he _knew_.  Bulma saw that Bardock’s eyes could see what she was doing, and that he did not need to ask.  His sons were not so discreet.  Turles laughed aloud.

“Hah!!  Kantak!  She’s created a reverse plasma wave!  Look at them!”  He pointed toward the fumbling Aisu-jin, who were hissing and spitting threats now.  “They don’t know what to do.”

Bulma had a brief second to wonder how in the names of all the gods Bardock and his sons were knowledgeable in such complicated science.  But Turles lifted one massive arm and aimed it in the general direction of the other aliens.  Above her sudden fear, she was reminded of Raditsu…  The squad around them sneered and charged their _jal’a_.

“Stop!!”  Bulma was shocked to hear Bardock’s voice join her own.

“Use your brain, _yu’Ma!_ ”  Bardock continued, “If you blow the controls by accident we’ll never get off of this shit heap!”

Kakkarot laughed once and stepped next to his brother, one finger extended toward the lizards.  Bulma watched, stunned, as the other of Bardock’s twins sent a beam straight into the heart of each Aisu-jin with absurd accuracy.  The engineering wing was now quiet.

Bulma stood, but before she could enter the vast rooms, Bardock pushed past her.  His eyes betrayed the same discerning suspicion she had seen a moment ago.  As he and the rest of his squad began securing the rest of the wing, he nodded to her.

“Find the mainframe, Bulma-kalzan.”

She nodded in reply.  It took but a moment for her to recognize the location of the mainframe.  But as she announced her discovery, and drew closer to the computer gird, she cursed.  Its configuration, its structure, everything about it was different than any ship she had so far seen in the Videon Galaxy.  As she touched the screen, Bulma was thankful at least that she could use a universal code to hack into it.  But once inside… Once inside, she realized that even if she could discern the Aisu-go characters, she would not know which module to hack to disable to cloaking systems.

Bulma stayed her thundering heart.  There must be a way.  There _had_ to be a way.  She would not die on this ship, damn it she would _not!!_   Her fingers trembled over the touch screen.  There was heat beside her suddenly.

“What’s taking so long?!”  Bardock’s hissing voice was right next to her ear.  She looked at him only briefly, then back to the screen.  She entered another pass code protected area and cursed again.

“This mainframe access is not an Andor-Class Galactic Fleet interface.  I’ve never seen one like this before, I--?  I don’t know if I can hack it.”  Bulma hoped that she shake in her voice was not evident.

“It is An’dor-Class.” Bardock said, his voice shattering to her ears.  “It’s an older version.”

Bulma felt her cheeks burn with the intensity of her embarrassment.

“How the fuck do you know that?!”  She snapped at him.

“I used to work with them on Vejiita-sei;” he replied snidely, urgently, “the Empire hasn’t used them for decades, Bulma-kalzan.  Will you argue with me or ask for my help--!”

His hushed voice was interrupted by the shouting and screeching of Aisu-jin guards.  They were coming toward engineering.  Bulma turned her head toward him and felt her upper lip quiver into what felt like a sneer.  The gods take him!! 

“Tell me how to get to the structural workup screen then, dammit!”  She hissed.

“This interface will not have cloaking structures in that module--!”

“Then tell me how to get to them, all the gods!” 

By now, her face was inches from his.  Bulma thought she could just about feel the humidity of the sweat on both their cheeks, and she swallowed deeply.  The ship shuddered then, and Bardock’s mouth quirked into a half-smile.  Bulma felt her eyes widen until the vibration of the ship was visible.

“That would be my eldest son, Bulma-kalzan.  Look at the top left of your screen, there should be an entry screen for ‘temp modules’, if you can read the Aisu-go.”

Bulma scanned the screen, looking for the Aisu-go characters for “temporary”, hoping to all the gods that her genius would not fail her now.  _There!!_ Elated, she touched the entry, steadying her feet as another quake rocked the floor beneath her.  Raditsu had given up on her… His shots from the ship’s bridge on the vid screen would be as useless as if he were firing in the dark, though, if she did not de-cloak the Aisu-jin fleet soon.  Then there would be a moment, however brief, during which she would have to contact him on a pirate frequency or risk him hitting the ship dead on while they were still aboard…

“Next module--??”  She hissed at Bardock.

“‘Pre-emptive battle module!’”  He replied, keeping his eyes steadfast on the gaping, destroyed hull door.  His breath was quickening.  “They are coming, Bulma-kalzan.”

“I _know_ , dammit…!  Alright!  Yes, this is it!  I see the cloaking shields.”

Sweat dripped, unchecked, from her temple and down to her chin as she watched the workup expand.  She could see the flagship’s system, and splaying out from there, what appeared to be the rest of the fleet.

“Is this interface also accessed by the main network for all ships in the fleet?”  She asked Bardock urgently.

“It should be…”  Bardock replied, almost lazily.  Bulma’s head snapped toward him.  “If not, then at least you can access the individual networks from each workup.”  A grin spread gaudily across his mouth, and Bulma’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re a scientist.”  She said, merely waiting for the confirmation.  She looked back to the screen when another Aisu-jin voice, closer now, echoed down the hall.

“I was…” Bardock said, “but I told the king some things one day: some things he did not particularly like.”  The smile broadened.

“I suppose then that your station as squad commander was well-deserved?”  Bulma almost smiled with him.  But before he could reply, she had begun deactivating the shields – one by one.

“Yes!”  She felt the laughter of release begin to bubble up her throat.  “Yes, they’re down!  They’re down!!”

Bardock reached in front of her and across the touch board until he was slamming his palm onto the hailing frequency key. 

“Tell it in Aisu-go!”  He shouted.  “Tell it to hail frequency 46Z 9!  Do it now!!”

Swallowing a gulp of air, Bulma spoke the words.  The ship shuddered again, and they both gripped the edges of the touch board for stability.  It seemed an eternity passed before a voice came through the speaker dome above them.

“This is frequency 46Z 9!  Bulma-kalzan, that had better be you or I will incinerate that fleet ship with you, my father and my prince aboard!”

Bulma had never been so relieved to hear the sound of Saiya-go.  The laughter that had bubbled up in her throat quickly turned to a sob when she recognized Raditsu’s voice.

“Raditsu!  I have disabled the cloaking systems, we will need transport immediately!”  There was a soft hissing in the corner far above her head as the hull began to shake apart inside engineering.  “Immediately!!”  She shrieked.

“ _Bras da’ga!_ ” He shouted back in defiance.  “Where is Vejiita-Zarshi?  We have medical teams waiting for the Kassha’hal--!”

“Brolli is dead!” Bardock interjected.  Bulma saw the panic on his face as the floor jarred him to the side.  “We will bring Vejiita-Zarshi back alive if the Aisu-jin haven’t torn him up yet!  Your torpedoes have breached the hull of this fucking beast, Raditsu, now give me a transport location!”

There was a brief, agonizing moment of silence during which Bulma remembered her will to live.  She shut her eyes as another tremor wracked the floor, and the desire grew inside her chest until it was nearly bursting out of her throat.  She willed Raditsu to answer.  She begged the gods for Vejiita to be alive, to find him before they could transport off the Shafuri.  And she begged for their mercy…  Mercy for her murderous endeavors, mercy for her quest of vengeance!  Mercy… _mercy!!_

“The sick bay, Kantak!”  Raditsu exclaimed through the speaker.  “Your signal will be strongest there.  Go now!”

Bardock’s arm was around her waist before she could protest.  He lifted her off of the shaking ground and charged his jal’a, then shouted to his squad to fly toward sick bay.  As the air grew heavy with electrical smoke, and the breeze from Bardock’s flight swirled it around her, Bulma prayed.

 

#

 

Before he careened into the corrugated steel wall, Vejiita had time enough to curse that bitch of a Chikyuu-jin aloud.  Having been kicked (actually kicked!) by that tech-perv lizard down the hall, his back hit the studded surface and he gasped for air as the floor came up to meet him.  If that traitorous whore hadn’t sold them out then perhaps he wouldn’t be face down on the filthy floor, still disoriented from plasma poisoning and depleted of his energy.  Vejiita growled and pushed himself up, knives of pain cutting into his biceps and forearms.

“You’ll have to try harder, Aisu-jin pig!”  He bellowed, rushing forward as it recharged its rifle and resumed fire.  He dodged quickly enough to avoid the plasma blasts, but not as quickly as he should be moving.  Vejiita snarled as he dodged a final blast and twisted mid-air before driving his boot into the ugly face of the Aisu-jin firing at him.  When the alien hit the floor, choking for breath, Vejiita sent a charge of energy directly into his chest and chuckled with glee as it destroyed the cavity of the Aisu-jin’s bowels.

“Better luck next time.”  He muttered, disgusted that he should have to waste his energy on such filth.  Vejiita stepped over the body; it was the last one in the way of the sick bay security panel.  He slammed his fist into it and growled as it spit sparks and electrical smoke into his face.  With his other hand, Vejiita threw a quick blast of energy into the panel, and smirked when the entrance to sick bay swished open in front of him.  Infiltration was much easier when his resources weren’t at the mercy of mindless orbs.

He rushed into sick bay and tore apart the shelves; there had to be numbing agent in here somewhere!  Ever since blasting out the so-named dampening orbs in a fruitless effort to save Brolli, his legs and arms had been screaming with agony.  Vejiita realized that at some point his innards would rebel, and he hoped to all the gods that by then he’d be on speedy recovery in his own restoration tanks, on his own ship.

Another tremor ran through the floor of this ship, and Vejiita’s heart jumped.  Somewhere, the hull had been breached and, little by little, the rest of the fleet ship was decompressing.  He had little time but said a brief, profanity-laced prayer to Vash’halla that he would make it out of this alive.  Vejiita laughed sharply and closed his fist around a handful of numbing agent vials on the floor.  He opened one, frantic with his desire to be relieved, and pressed some of the oily, viscous gel onto the back of his skull.  Just as the drugs had begun to take their effect, voices permeated the silence of the shattered hall outside.

Vejiita tensed.  Let them come, he thought.  If he was to die here, on this heap of frozen hell, then let them come so he could die a warrior’s death.  Raditsu’s attack had already clearly begun; the Chikyuu-jin had failed.  The clarity broke Vejiita’s repose, and he stood up straight, ready to assault the next lizard who clamored through the door.

The sound of Saiya-go, though, made him cock his head.

“This way, you shit-eaters!  Don’t you know your way around an An’dor Class fleet ship?!” 

Vejiita nearly cackled aloud at the sound of Bardock’s voice and rushed toward the open door of sick bay.  He arrived there just in time for Squad #5 to touch down near the bodies of the Aisu-jin Vejiita had vanquished moments before.  Bardock’s sons gazed at the carnage, and then back to their prince.  Vejiita did not miss the gleeful grins on their faces as they, this time, saluted and bowed to him.  The rest of the squad followed.  Bardock chuckled, and when Vejiita saw him the older Saiya-jin placed Bulma gingerly on her toes next to him.

“I see you’ve been busy, Sire.”

The ship shuddered again, and all were rocked from side to side.

“We must get inside sick bay!”  Bulma’s voice warned, and though he was loathe to trust her Vejiita had no choice but to obey.  As they and the rest of Squad #5 began to crowd into the room, Vejiita felt more Aisu-jin ki signatures behind him.  As the lizards rounded the corner at the end of the hallway, they shouted words Vejiita did not understand and assumed firing stance with their weapons.  A voice beside him cursed in Saiya-go.

“Zarshi-kalan--!  Ta’sham!!”  It was Kakkarot, one of Bardock’s twins, and he was pushing Vejiita to the ground with one heavy arm.  Vejiita felt a brief moment of annoyance before he rolled into sick bay and Kakkarot’s agonized voice echoed down the hallway.  A small plasma wave whooshed over his head, and two other Saiya-jin leapt out of the way.  When Vejiita had regained his footing, the Aisu-jin voices were calling out again, but this time their voices were riotous, joyful.  He squinted, and Bardock called out to his son.

Kakkarot was on his knees, grasping his now ruined arm and panting heavily.  The plasma wave had mangled his arm, and the injury would certainly kill him.  Bardock cursed beside Vejiita and roared.  The prince could feel Bardock’s aura grow heavy with rage and power, but he reached back and put a hand to the bigger warrior’s chest.  Kakkarot glanced back at them.  There was an eerie silence in the hall.

“Kantak…?”

Bardock reached out for him, and Vejiita’s jaw clenched.  One of the Aisu-jin cackled and shouted another order. 

“NO!!”  Vejiita pushed against Bardock’s chest again and shoved him backward just as a second plasma wave hit Kakkarot in his opposite shoulder.  The wave dispersed from there and hit the doorframe, and as the group inside dove for the floor Vejiita could still hear Kakkarot calling for them. 

After the doorframe had finished collapsing, silence fell over the room like a blanket of heavy and suffocating fabric.  Vejiita struggled to his feet and brushed debris from his arms and legs.  The others were getting up, and when Bardock had gained his footing, he rushed at the prince with such speed and ferocity that Vejiita barely had time to brace himself.  The older man gripped the collar of his battle suit and squeezed. 

“Vash’halla take you!”  Bardock hissed into his face.  “You let him die, the gods damn you!  You let him die!!”

Vejiita was aware that a few other members of Bardock’s squad, including his son Turles, were attempting to pull him away unsuccessfully.  Vejiita reached up and took both of Bardock’s shoulders in his grip.

“Let go of me you arrogant fool!”  He pushed on Bardock’s shoulders and fed a few bolts of energy into them.  The Commander snarled and stumbled backward, but only a few feet.  Turles helped his father to steady his footing.

“Would you rather have died as well, you idiot?”  Vejiita spat.  “He is dead anyway!  Better he faced his death now by his enemy’s hand rather than bled to death before we could get him to a re-gen tank!”

Bardock continued to glare at him, and Vejiita could see the anger of a thousand war gods in his black eyes.  A dull boom echoed in the room, reminding everyone of the still imminent threat from outside the collapsed door frame.  Turles gripped his father’s shoulder as Bardock straightened his back and growled.

“Our prince is right, Father…” 

“The Aisu-jin will tear his body apart before they kill him!”  Bardock shouted, despair evident in the words.  “All the gods, they’ll keep him alive if only to torture him, making an example for all of us!”

“He will die before they have the chance,” Vejiita answered gravely.  “By now the plasma has eaten away his heart, Bardock.  And you will show me more respect from this moment on, or gods help me I will keep you alive to make an example of!”

There was silence, but for the noises outside the wreckage, until Turles pressed his palm flat on his father’s chest and nodded.  Bardock, though his breath was heavy and his brow furrowed, lowered his eyes once.

“Suukah.” 

The other warriors echoed the word, and the floor of the ship shuddered once more.  Vejiita nodded to Bardock and saluted him.

“I will see that he is given a proper ceremony once we are safe.”

“If you are done mourning,” came a voice from the other side of the room, “we must all be within two feet of one another for Raditsu’s transmission to be successful.”  Bulma was brushing some dust from what remained of her clothes, and making her way to the sick bay comPanel.  She pressed her finger onto it and over a few of the keys.

Vejiita glanced at Bardock and headed over to where she stood.  The others followed, but he could feel the Commander’s eyes on him like a ray of red sun.  The renegade soldier would not soon forget this, he knew.  It was another blow to his pride.

As Vejiita approached, Bulma spread two fingers over the touch screen and pressed both down at the same time.  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and sighed.

“Aash’an Raditsu, can you hear me?”

All were quiet, praying to any god who would listen as the sound of the Aisu-jin trying to break through the debris got louder.  Finally, after what seemed an eternity the reply signal chimed through the panel, and Bulma was smiling.

“Bulma-kalzan, I’ve never been so happy to hear from you.”

Vejiita saw her smirk.

“Likewise, Aash’an.”  She replied.  “Can you get us out of this hellhole?”

“Give me a moment to zero in on your frequency.”

The ship shuddered again, and Vejiita heard the Aisu-jin shouting.  They’d broken through the first obstacle.  His body shook with fear and excitement all at once.

“We don’t have a moment, Raditsu.”  Bulma told him, her voice amused but shaken.

Vejiita waited.  They all waited on the heels of one female’s genius.  But for all the chaos around him, he may have chuckled aloud at the irony of it all.  Instead, the next tremor shook through him like the fingers of the Blood Goddess:  slick and red with terror.  His eyes came wide open, straining with all the fear he had felt in all his life.

Raditsu’s voice floated through the comPanel.

“I’ve got you.  Stand by…”

The Aisu-jin plasma blast came through the wreckage, punctuating the tense silence.  Vejiita blinked, and the room faded from view.

 


	20. Chapter Nineteen - Tal'id

**_Tal’id_ **

**“Requiem”**

 

Days had passed, probably.  Perhaps even a week had gone by, but Bulma could not be sure.  The cell she had been confined to once returning to the Saiya-jin fleet ship had no windows into space, so she could not see how far Mizukashi’s third-cycle moon had come in its orbit around the planet.  Nor had anyone come to see or speak to her, but for the guard who was given the esteemed privilege of feeding her.  Only a small, single window on the cell door gave a bleak shower of light from the hallway outside.  She sat in the darkness, knees hugged against her chest and her back glued to the corner of her cell, as she had for most of her time here.   Well, there was not much else to do was there?  There was not much else to think about either, other than her impending death and the events that had led inevitably to it.

Should she be surprised?  Probably not.  Had she unconsciously wished for death this past decade?  Probably so.  But Bulma found herself wishing earnestly for a second chance:  one that would save her indefinitely from the wrath of the Saiya-jin prince and his newly-formed ‘War Council’.  She sighed; loathe to think of the many ways in which this ‘Council’ could condemn her.  Surely, she had earned it, though.  In fact, Bulma imagined that a smirk had grown unbridled across her lips as she sat here in the dark and remembered her schemes and betrayals.  But it faded when she thought of Brolli’s crumpled, defeated form lying on the floor of the Aisu-jin hangar, professing his love for her until his last breath.  Bulma pursed her lips together.  Fool that he was…

Nothing could have prepared her for Raditsu’s reception, though.  For nothing had been as crippling, and as withering, as the regret and resentment in his gaze.  Had she expected gratitude for her valiant attempt at redemption?  Perhaps…  But not even her rescue of the Prince, nor her destruction of the Aisu-jin cloaking field had saved her the agony of Raditsu’s rejection.  Why, she wondered?  Why, after all this time had his judgments come so harshly?

With that question, Bulma’s desire for forgiveness had quickly turned to panic at the thought of death.  There was still so much left to do, so many things to learn!  If anything, Raditsu’s scornful glare had given life to a new desire inside her.  It was that desire to live that now made the darkness so very smothering, and so very cold.  Sweat began to bead on her forehead, despite the chill, and Bulma buried her face behind her knees.

The sound of the security panel cracked the silence open like a broken jar.  Bulma’s head came up and though she only expected her evening meal, all the keys on the panel flashed green.  Someone was coming in.  She pressed both hands against the wall behind her and struggled to her feet; there was no galaxy in existence where she would face her accusers while cowering in a corner.

Bulma was surprised to see that it was not one, but several female Mizuka-jin house servants who entered the cell.  She recognized their status by the conLinks around their wrists.  Her memory of that torturous device would never fade…

They approached her warily, as though she had never been one of them—as though she was not one of them now.  A girl at the forefront stepped forward and produced a small, folded piece of soft fabric.  It looked like a towel.  She addressed Bulma in stilted Saiya-go:

“Bulma-kalzan, we are here to take you to the West Quarter.”

The West Quarter of the Kuraoh would of course be, as it was on all ships, the slave quarter.  But Bulma’s spirits lifted ever so slightly; the slave quarter would be a bold step up from her current lodgings.  She watched the Mizuka-jin girl’s wide black eyes for a moment and suddenly wished to trade places with her.  Bulma nodded, aware that compared to these high-class house servants, she must smell and look terribly.  Her milky white hair was tousled about her face, and she brushed her hands against the same pants and tunic she’d been wearing since the plasma assault on the receiving dock.  She nodded.

“Alright.”  The Saiya-jin word slid off her lips as easily as her own language may have.  She reached out to take the cloth from the slave-girl, and they gestured toward the door.

Bulma was not surprised to see the tall Saiya-jin guards positioned to follow her once she left the cell.  The Mizuka-jin girls walked quickly; clearly they had been tasked with seeing Bulma to her destination in an efficient manner.  She followed dutifully through the long, sterile hallways of the ship, catching the suspicious glance of a guard or a soldier every now and again.  They seemed to regard her with a distant regret, for it was true she had made many “friends” in her life as a Saiya-jin citizen.  Now, it seemed as though the humanoid aliens were more foreign to her than the serpent-like Mizuka-jin.

When they reached the West Quarter Bulma was taken straight away to the showers.  Thank the gods…  She put a hand on the arm of one Mizuka-jin female.

“Thank you.”  She said in Mizukago.  The alien in front of her stiffened ever so slightly at the sound of anything other than Saiyago.  But Bulma tightened her hold on the tall girl’s arm and leaned in to speak softly.  “I do not have any other clothing.  Is it possible I could at least be given slave garb?”

The Mizuka-jin paused, a clear expression of pity etched into her scaly face.  Bulma swallowed deeply and squeezed on the girl’s arm.  How she _hated_ pity!  All the gods how she hated it!  The Mizuka-jin nodded brusquely and left, surrounding Bulma in the silence and solitude of the showers.

The water was so comforting that Bulma could have bent to her knees and cried.  Instead, she pressed both hands against the hard wall and let the steaming water cascade down her back like waves of a tiny waterfall.  Her muscles relaxed, and the knot of fear in her stomach loosened as easily as if someone had greased it open.  Bulma sighed, remembering another time when a hot bath had made her feel so human again, as this one did now…

After she had washed with the standard issue soap, she wrapped the rough towel she’d been given around herself and stepped from the shower.  To her delight, a slave’s standard issue body suit and tunic had been placed on the metal bench next to the shower stall.  She donned it with all the care she would have given to the luxurious gowns and wraps that Brolli, and Raditsu before him, had given her.  When she was finished, the guards appeared at the shower entrance expectantly.  Of course, they had seen her on the security vid screen; there would be no privacy for her now.  But Bulma was shocked to find that she appreciated from them the courtesy of waiting until she had dressed.

“Bulma-kalzan,” one of them said, his voice clipped and authoritative.    “You will come with us now.”

She nodded, crossed both dry, un-shaking hands in front of her and followed.  As they made their way down the halls again, Bulma became slowly aware that they were leaving the West Quarter.  The walls were still quite bland but a bit less forbidding, as though the ship itself told her that they were no longer in the presence of slaves but in the presence of warriors.  Confusion crept across her shoulders and lodged in her chest.  All the gods…  Who were they taking her to see?

Finally, horribly, they stopped.  The quarters in front of her were nondescript, and it unnerved her.  Was she ready to face Vejiita?  And what exactly would his presence cause to surge inside of her?  Fear?  Anger…?  Defensive hatred?  Bulma took a very deep breath and sighed.  Condensation collected on the cool door in front of her as the guard to her right reached forward to touch the security panel.

There was no answer to the call, and the door opened; no one was inside.  A rush of pure, unadulterated relief washed over her as they stepped inside.  Relief at the prospect of regained solitude, at the idea of forever leaving that dark, dark prison cell behind…  The creeping icicles on her spine began to dissipate ever so slightly.

Once inside the quarters, Bulma’s eyes took in the most beautiful sight she could imagine; all the gods, it was a window.  Heedless of her escorts, she stepped through the nicely appointed room and up to the glass, pressing her fingers against it with girlish glee.

The stars spread out before her in a field of twinkling diamonds.  She had forgotten the beauty of outer space, and the promise of renewal and hope that a glance of it could bring.  It stirred a memory of fear though, for to her left lay a grisly reminder of that very dread.

Bulma pressed the tip of her nose to the glass.  It was cool and sterile.  The Aisu-jin fleet ship, _Shafuri_ , floated in ruins.  Its hull was cracked and torn near the generators, and bits of the once magnificent war ship orbited the wreckage like a pack of pups circling a dead she-wolf.  Bulma gulped; not a sign of life emanated from the ruins.  The hull had been completely breached by Raditsu’s attack, and by her estimation the rescue party had escaped with but seconds to spare.  It occurred to her though, that the escape pod docks were empty.  Someone had left the _Shafuri_ before it died…

“In case you’re wondering,” a very familiar voice said behind her, “Furiza is gone.  He escaped after we transmitted your rescue party…  _Bulma-kalzan_.”

She blinked, but did not turn.  The wreckage outside the ship seemed now but a metaphor for the shell of her good soul, wherever it had gone.  Bulma felt her lips turn up into a grim smile, and she turned to Raditsu, her hands folded in front of her.

“I should have known…”  She said to him, forgetting her status.  She noted also that the guards were not present.

“Should have known to be grateful that you aren’t bowing before a war council yet?”  Raditsu’s voice, although not completely affectionate, conveyed more warmth than did his words.  Bulma smiled and lowered her eyes.

“Yes…”  She said it:  a world of loss in that one word.  “You have always been a great advocate of my dignity, Raditsu.  I thank you…”

He crossed the space between them slowly, agonizingly, and Bulma’s arms tensed at her sides.  The tall, brooding Saiya-jin soldier looked at her, and he sighed.  His eyebrows lifted suddenly, but furrowed again in what seemed like realization.  He smelled like a Saiya-jin, clean but close to the earth they were born to, musky and hot.

“From the day I brought you into my house on Vejiita-sei, I think you wanted to kill me.”  Raditsu mused aloud.  “But you never tried…  You never tried to kill me, as you had your previous master.  Instead you let me seduce you, wormed your way into my confidence and broke it down bit by bit until I _wanted_ to give you away.  And you did the same to Brolli, I think.

“How could something—someone—so beautiful be so poisonous?”

Bulma smiled at him and let her arms relax only slightly.  Raditsu’s shock of long, raven black hair was a stark contrast to the white tunic he wore, emblazoned on the breast with the Royal Seal of Vejiita-sei.  His broad chest was still; he was holding his breath.

“It’s true, I wanted to kill you.”  Bulma told him, forthright.  His mouth twitched visibly, but he did not smirk.  “But it wasn’t just about you, Raditsu…  It never was.”

“Then what was it about, Bulma?”  He asked her then.  “What was it?  Your maniacal need for vengeance?  The humiliation of your ego?  You couldn’t just accept your fate like so many others before you had, could you?”

“My fate was not to be decided by you!”  Bulma found herself unable to stop the snipe of words that shot from her lips, though her heart clenched at the memories he awakened in her.

“But it was!”  Raditsu shot back, closer to her now than he had been for years.  “And you fought too long and too hard to reclaim control.  You failed.”

“No…”  She whispered, and swallowed hard to stop the swell of tears that now threatened her steady voice.  “No.  I have reclaimed my honor from your people.  Without me Vejiita would never have returned.”

“Without you he would never have been on that ship to begin with!”  Raditsu stepped an arm’s length away from her, and Bulma found herself panicking at the loss of heat.  “Without you, the Kassha’hal Brolli would still be alive.  And unless you can convince the War Council that your loyalties have changed, I don’t see how you will escape from this with your life, Bulma-kalzan.”

Despite her best efforts, Raditsu’s words bit at the last vestiges of strength in her gut.  Since leaving Brolli in the hangar aboard _Shafuri_ , she had not shed a tear and now…  Now a rebellious bead of sorrow fell unchecked from her azure eye.

“There were days when I prayed for death…”

“You may yet see your prayers answered!”  Raditsu bellowed, his voice muted by the small but well-insulated room.  The sound of his voice echoed in her hollow chest.

“Perhaps…”  She whispered again, this time looking away as though she spoke to someone else.  She blinked, and more of those rebellious tears trickled over her cheeks.

There was silence then, for a few precious moments.  Silence during which Bulma had no choice but to calm the seizing grief in her chest or risk her knees buckling because of it.  But she would not do that for Raditsu.  No… even now she would not do that for any of them.  She looked back to Raditsu, and she looked him in the eye until he again closed the distance between them.  He crossed both arms on his chest and breathed deeply.

“You have seven hours to think of a plea,” he said quietly, almost gently.  And then, to her dismay, he reached out to cup her cheek in the palm of his big hand.  He dragged his thumb against her tear-stained cheek.  “If I were you I would beg for mercy.”

Bulma stepped back from him with reeling urgency.  She regained her footing and stood with her back straight as he dropped both arms at his side and smiled.  _He actually smiled…!_   Raditsu went to the door of the room and accessed the security panel, but when the door swished open there were no guards, and he did not motion for her to follow.  Instead she was left again to solitude.  But this time…  This time the gorgeous window at her back beckoned, and, despite that Raditsu’s words had left a hole in her heart the size of the Videon Galaxy, she went back to it.

There were still marks on the glass from where her palms had pressed up against it only moments earlier.  But this time she sat, her bottom comfortably nestled in the lounge chair in front of the window.  Before long, the infinite expanse of space had lulled her to a regretfully restless sleep, where dreams of Earth echoed like poltergeists in the sorrow of her mind.  But in the midst of her memory and in her last plea for comfort, something touched her with such complete abandon that her chest expanded to take in all the air she could breathe so as not to miss a moment of it.  Her eyes flitted open.

The light in the room had not changed, but by the position of the stars in the window she could see that an hour, maybe two, had passed.  A voice from the back rest of the chair startled her up on the palms of her hands.

“In sleep you are like Mil’fah, the Water Goddess.  She is known for her purity of spirit and body…”  Vejiita sat perched on the back rest above her, reclined slightly.  He spoke to her and yet, his eyes were closed.  Bulma drew in a breath, and she smelled him:  clean and fresh from a regen tank and clothed in the most freshly laundered tunic and body suit.

“ _Zarshi-kalan_ ,” she began quietly.  “I think you know better than that.”

When Vejiita opened his eyes and smirked down at her, Bulma thought it was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen.  Her heart ached in a way she had not allowed it to for many years.

“You are a wanted female, Bulma-kalzan.”  He said.  “Already, the War Council discusses your fate.”

Bulma pushed herself back up on her bottom and gazed out the window, at the wreckage of Furiza’s ship.  Surely, in that graveyard of engineering, every Saiya-jin could see the empty hole of space where Vejiita-sei once orbited:  proud and defiant in her scope and grandeur.  Just as she could see the hole of Earth’s empty grave…

“What did you come here for, Vejiita?”  She asked him, unmindful of his title or of her place in this new world.  “Is this your offer of comfort?”

His fingers found their way deep into the tousle of her hair and cradled the base of her head as one would a small child.  Bulma found the crease in her brow lifting, but she gazed up at him, startled.  Something in his grip made it seem as though he had never touched her before—as though he had never driven himself inside her, made her utterly his prisoner, or caged the raging demons in her soul.  His smile had not changed; Vejiita would not change.  But he stroked the base of her neck now as though he had become something more than a king.  A god…

“I think you know that I could never offer you that.”  He said.  And Bulma knew it was the truth.  It was just as shattering as the first night they’d rutted like wild myr cats in the holding cell; he had laid her soul bare for all to see and she could not have realized it even if he had said it out loud. 

“I’ve known that since the day you tried to steal me away from Brolli.”

“But you thought I would fold…  Just like him, just like Raditsu.”  Vejiita threw both legs over the back of the couch and enclosed her between them.  He cupped her face in both hands and drew her up toward him the way a sun would draw a flower.  She drank in his fiery warmth, though it burned.  Bulma nodded to him.

“You knew that from the beginning.  You knew I would try.”  She said.

Vejiita chuckled deeply, and the sound rolled in his chest.  Bulma allowed the sound to reverberate through her and into the warm hollow between her legs.  Even now, she thought, even now his power over her was too much.  Her chest heaved uncontrollably, and for once she did not care.  Vejiita drew her further up towards him and feathered his warm fingers over the pulse in her neck.  Her mouth parted, and he pressed against her trembling bottom lip with his other thumb.

“I was the only one who saw you for what you really were, _Shall’la._   Even you could not see...”  He whispered, and his cool breath against her mouth sent goose bumps flaring down her arms and breasts.  Bulma nodded, unable to speak for fear that he would let her go.  _The gods damn him…!_ Damn him, because every word was true.  It was how he had broken her:  how she had let him break her resolve without knowing it.

Vejiita fingered the collar of her tunic, and pushed it off her shoulders with the ease of familiarity.  He pressed one palm against her back, and without much insistence Bulma arched into him.  Her breasts already tingled with the anticipation of his touch, and she knew finally that she had lost herself completely to him.

His fingers drew lazy circles around one pert nipple, drawing pants of breath from her as though she were already naked.  Vejiita breathed against her mouth heavily and pressed into her back again.  Her stomach crushed against the hard, molten heat between his legs, and he groaned.  A throaty chuckle followed, and he leaned into her ear.

“You were right though, _Bulma-kalzan_ …”  He growled pleasantly.  “You were right when you told me I still wanted you.  I want you _because_ of what you are.”  He kissed her deeply, sucking on her bottom lip as though he might have drawn nectar.  “And I do want to be the one who punishes you.”

Her gaze lifted until she was looking him right in the eye, and in those deep, black depths she could see that the desire there would not be sated by anything less than that punishment.  His lip curled into a vicious smirk, sending a shudder of longing through her very core.  Bulma’s tongue slid out until she could lick her top lip.  The words were coming now… slowly.

“Then… let this be the real judgment.  Do it, Vejiita, because there is no one else I would take it from!”

Vejiita’s mouth broadened to a smile, a real smile that sent a stroke of real and utter joy through her soul.  He kissed her again, possessing and heavy.  His hand snaked around the flare of her hip, and he twisted her around until her cheek pushed up against the couch.  The body suit she had been so kindly given was torn straight down the middle of her back, and the coolness of the air inside the room was replaced by the heat of Vejiita’s hands on the low swell near her bottom.  The same hands slid up the plane of her stomach and over her bare and tingling breasts until he squeezed them painfully, deliciously, pulling her flush against his newly bare chest.

Like this, with his mouth pressed into her neck and his fingers exploring her as if for the first time, Bulma knew; it was what she had always wanted.  Yes… he did know her for what she was.  He could see all of those things that made her the genius scientist who could have destroyed them with her mind.  The vengeful hellcat, the cool seductress…  The cowering slave…

Bulma felt Vejiita push his knee under hers, lifting her leg up onto the couch so that she sat haphazardly on his lap, close to the bare, searing hot warmth that now pressed against her backside.  She was so close to death, Bulma thought.  She was so close, when all he had to do was snap his fingers and send her to a council who would eat her alive.  The realization made her desperate for life – for the life he ignited in her when he touched her; the one she had thought long gone. Vejiita brushed the cascade of her hair off her shoulder and pressed his lips into her ear.

“Remember that I can see you, Chikyuu-jin,” he whispered, gravelly and low, “and show me how much you want to live.”

When he pushed into her, full and hot, Bulma gasped.  Her breath came out on a sob, and he wrapped his fingers gently around her throat.  He held her there, sighing and sobbing as she was, and rocked her against him with the rhythm of a sweet song.  He panted in her ear, the heat of his breath every so often ending with a groan, and finally let go of her neck so he could brace her up against the couch and batter into her the way he had always wanted to. 

And she cried out for him, heedless of who would hear, because if this were the last time…  If it was the last time, she could not take him inside her far enough to feel whole.  The tears came, though she hated them still, and when he began to roar out his climax she sobbed out the crest of her own with him.  She was riding with him, this one; the one who had broken her vengeance and written her requiem.

Afterward, when the haze of sex had cleared from her mind and she was nestled in the crook of his arm, Bulma brushed bare feet against the soft fabric of the couch.  Her forehead was pressed against his chest, and she drew lazy lines down the hard valley of his stomach.

“I almost left you there, _Shall’la_.”  Vejiita said then, his face expressionless.  “On the dock, when Brolli was dying and you realized it was all your doing.”

Bulma stopped her ministrations and placed a palm flat on his abdomen.  His skin was still hot to the touch, and she could feel small electric shocks of ki dancing over her hand.

“I know,” she said finally.  And then a soft laugh.  “Perhaps you should have.”

Vejiita’s finger came to her chin, and he propped it up until she could see the black nadir of his gaze again.  His brow creased, and his nose wrinkled as if he could sense something foul.

“You will need to plead innocence to the council, Bulma.  If you do not, I don’t know how I can save you.”

She did not answer at first, only looked away and blinked away some of those stinging, evil tears.  A sad smile crept its way over her swollen lips, and she drew in a breath.  His fingers dropped to her neck, and then her bare breast, tracing circles there.

“When Raditsu found me in the science division on Vejiita-sei, when he discovered my work, destroyed it and took me as his slave, I thought I would die of rage.  I _wanted_ to…”  She paused, and swallowed a lump of that familiar rage down her throat.  “And then, he didn’t know it, but then he showed me how powerful I really was.”

Vejiita snorted quietly and pressed his probing fingers against the soft skin on her belly.

“He didn’t know what he was dealing with.”  He said, deathly quiet.  Bulma shifted her head and looked back into his probing, piercing eyes.  He bit the tip of her nose.

“When he left me on Mizukashi with Brolli,” she continued, “then I really knew.  I knew I _had_ to live.  I had to survive if I wanted the pain to stop.  Because wishing I was dead, with all of my friends and family, only made the pain worse.”

Something in Vejiita’s gaze flickered at her words.  Bulma watched with fascination the curve of his mouth as he looked at her, and reached up to touch his lips with unthinking fingers.  He caught her wrist in his hand with usual, terrifying speed.

“Save it.”  He said to her.  There was heat between his legs again, hardening and pressing against the insides of her thighs with excitement.  “Save it for them, for the council.  I already know you.”

Vejiita’s mouth was already on her skin again, leaving little trails of desire on her neck and her collar bone.  But she slid a hand through his coarse black hair and gripped tightly.  It did little to deter him.

“No…” she breathed, “no.”

“Enough…” he growled, nipping and kissing at her breasts.

The hot, solid length of him nudged at her for entrance again.  And with a cry she closed her eyes and let him.  Through his quiet, feverish thrusts he pressed his forehead against hers.

“Open your eyes, _Bulma-kalzan_.”  He told her, his voice gruff with desire.  She did, and in the overwhelming heat of his love-making she gasped.

“They must see you as I see you.”  He whispered, sliding a hand under her bottom so she could meet him more easily.  “Because you need us…  You need this.  You need to live.  Show them you need to live!”

Bulma cried out, his name choking on a sob as she came under him.  She cursed him in the same breath, because he was right.  He was right, and he had been right all along.  The need for them, for _him_ , grew in her again.  Bulma held on to him, and knew without a doubt that her vengeance was forever, horribly and sinfully, lost. 

Later, when they were both sated and Vejiita lay sleeping and nuzzled against her neck, Bulma watched as the motion-sensor lights dimmed and the room around her blurred against the bright starlight from the window.  The remains of _Shafuri_ floated next to _Kuraoh_ like a partner who hadn’t yet learned the steps of the dance, and Bulma swallowed.  If she could not convince this council that she deserved to live, perhaps it was the last glimpse of starlight she would ever see.


	21. Chapter Twenty - Ganah

**_Ganah_ **

**“Fate”**

*

**Planet Mizukashi; Governor’s Palace – Stage Arena One**

 

In the week since leaving Mizukashi, Bulma had forgotten the humidity.  She stood outside the arena, where Brolli had fought Vejiita that day – it seemed a lifetime ago now.  All those days were like another life entirely; Brolli’s mirth and blissful ignorance of his superiority on Mizukashi, the day of the Summer Festival and the first time she laid eyes on Vejiita…  It seemed that all of these things had happened to another woman entirely.  Had she ever been a Saiya-jin citizen?  Had she really given Brolli the tools to make ki absorbing walls inside this training arena?

Bulma gazed up at the doors, grimly aware of the hulking Saiya-jin guards behind her.  Only six hours had passed since they’d left Yuki-sei’s solar system, and seven since Vejiita had woken from his repose on her bosom to trace the lines of her face with his fingers and smile sadly, to the point of cruelty.  He’d dressed without a word, but then handed her the torn body suit she’d been wearing.

“I’ll make sure they bring a new one.”  He’d said, and wrapped her tunic around her bare shoulders.

With his white tunic on again, Vejiita’s black hair was as deeply contrasted as Raditsu’s but more foreboding.  Perhaps because it reflected the chasm in her soul… The one that only he could see.  She had not said a word, but he had knelt beside her and gazed at her lips.

“Do not forget one thing Bulma-kalzan; I said it to you on Furiza’s ship, in that holding cell while my guts and limbs were burning from plasma poisoning.  I think I could kill you as soon as I would make love to you.  Even if you are spared by the Council, I promise that life will not be any easier than death.”

Bulma felt the corner of her mouth turn up as the doors to the stage arena opened, and she was met with a crowd of at least two hundred displaced, angry Saiya-jin.  The shouts drowned out all other noise in her mind, or in her heart, but she stepped forward with her hands folded neatly in front of her.  A new, soft, dark blue body suit hugged the flare of her body, and she fingered the zipper of the black slave tunic that Vejiita had wrapped so neatly around her shoulders.

The quiet, weak smile on her lips did not fade, even as she continued into the arena.  A makeshift dais was set up toward the east arc of the sparring ring, and though it was probably only a short walk away Bulma thought that perhaps it would be the longest of her life.  She stepped under the west seating wing and stopped.  Raditsu was poised near the pillar under the crowds of his fellow Saiya-jin, watching her.  His face was a strange mixture of sadness, amusement and fury.

Bulma met his gaze with the steady intensity of an Earth cat, and she squeezed her fingers together tightly.  Raditsu crossed his big arms over the expanse of his chest and broke her gaze to nod at the dais.  There were four Council Members waiting for her there – eerily silent, but looking for all the universe like the Four Horseman of her private Apocalypse.

“You are a fitting sacrifice for them, Bulma-kalzan.”  Raditsu said, his voice weary.  She could just hear him above the shouts of the crowd.

“Indeed, Aash’an.”  Bulma replied and released her hands so that both arms hung loosely at her sides.

She straightened her shoulders, puffed out her ample bosom and looked back into his black, black eyes before reaching up to release the tie in her hair.  The cerulean fell, lock over lock until its lengths rested coolly on her shoulders and back.  This time, Raditsu smiled a smile that she had not seen from him in a very long time; the warmth of it shamed her so much that she looked away.  Now, one of the guards nudged her shoulder cruelly.  Bulma focused her gaze onto the dais where the Council Members sat, and stepped forward again.

By the time she reached the bottom of the dais, she could clearly see each of her accusers.  There were two Saiya-jin male officers, by the looks of them Elite Class.  In between them sat a female Saiya-jin, and Bulma could see by the crest on her armor that she was a Science Officer.  To the female’s left sat a Mizuka-jin MedScan healer.  Bulma resisted the urge to smirk at Vejiita’s diplomatic prowess; surely the Mizuka-jin would have been used to treat wounded Saiya-jin during recent events, and Vejiita could not miss an opportunity to condemn her with this loyal, sovereign subject.  She had thought perhaps that Vejiita meant to save her.  Now she was not sure…

All at once, the hall fell silent.  Bulma’s ears continued to ring from the deafening noise, but not a soul uttered a word.  And then she saw him; Vejiita had risen from his seat on the balcony, among the remaining Elite Guard, and was holding one strong hand up by his chin.  Raditsu had still been in his casual attire but Vejiita…

Vejiita had changed entirely.  He was fully armored now, his Royal Crest blazing red like fire on the breast of his chest plate.  His body suit was black and high-necked.  It hugged the hard, strong lines of his body like a second skin.  She wondered if he knew how much his face had changed in the few short weeks she had known him, or if he knew how horribly handsome he looked in the jewels of his dead father.

Bulma breathed deeply and clutched her hands together again.  A slight, humid breeze drifted through the open arena pillars and fluttered the crimson cape on Vejiita’s back.  He was a king now…  Her flesh tingled at the memory of his touch, his cruel kiss, and she knew; he was every inch a king to the Saiya-jin who regarded him now.  A single tear found its way down her cheek but she smiled, looked back at the Council, and did not think to swipe it away.

Vejiita addressed the crowd formally and, to Bulma’s great surprise, there were even one or two words she did not understand.  Well, she had only been in the presence of royalty a short time, hadn’t she?  The Council stood and saluted him, and then the two hundred Saiya-jin in the crowd did the same.  To her dismay, Vejiita lifted the finger of his elevated hand and pointed it directly at her.

“The Council meets to decide the fate of the Chikyuu-jin slave you see before you.”  His voice echoed throughout the silent arena, and it shattered her to the bones.  Vejiita looked away from her and to the Council members.  “You will read the charges.”

Bulma felt herself blink, but the scene before her did not shift.  She was not dreaming – this was no nightmare.  Reality stretched out before her, sickening and all too clear.  The center male officer on the dais stood, and his armor glinted against the Mizukashi sunlight.  He cocked his chin at her, and Bulma thought she could see a slight tinge of amusement in his black eyes.

“Bulma-kalzan,” he began slowly.  “The Council has been made aware that you once held a sovereign citizenship of the Saiya-jin Empire.  Is this true?”

Bulma breathed deeply, unaware that she would have had the opportunity to speak.  Her usual demeanor of confidence was replaced by a stifling terror, but she lifted her chin and pressed her lips together once.

“It is true, Councilman.”  She replied, one eyebrow raised.

“Then we will consider this during your trial.”  He replied, and took a small holo device from the chair he had been seated in.  He gestured to the crowds.  “We have read the evidence given us by His Majesty, Vejiita-Zarshon, as well as supplemental testimony from Battalion Captain Aash’an Raditsu.  There are also significant testimonies from Galactic Security Squad 5, and several Mizuka-jin citizens.

“You are accused of high treason and covert conspiracy against the Saiya-jin Empire, Bulma-kalzan.”

She pursed her lips further and shifted her shoulders.  They would not be charges to dispute, Bulma thought.  Her heart pounded inside its heavy cage and set a pulse to choke at her throat.  The Councilman continued.

“It is the understanding of this War Council that you, under the privilege of Saiya-jin citizenship, plotted to overthrow and destroy the Empire’s reign with help from Aisu-jin Emperor Furiza and a small resistance of Mizuka-jin rebels.  Therefore, the Council has no choice but to add to your charges: which include the abetting of the assassination of Vejiita-Zarshon’s father, and the death of Shakan Brolli, _Kassha’hal_ and revered warrior of the Elite Class.”

Bulma’s lips parted softly.  She had expected the charge for Vejiita’s father.  But somehow, the accusation that she had caused Brolli’s death (though in fairness she probably had) was more devastating than any of the other charges.  Brolli’s words of devotion, twisted as they had been, welled inside her chest until they formed a quiet gasp of air.  When the sound echoed in the arena, some of the Saiya-jin there murmured in astonishment.  She imagined that they wondered where her sorrow had come from.  And so did she wonder…

The Councilman took a deep breath of his own and put his holo device back on his chair.  He took one step down from the dais, and then gestured to the other Council members behind him.  When he looked at her again, the amusement had returned to his accusing eyes.

“For the sake of form, Bulma-kalzan, I must ask you: what is your plea, against these accusations that we have laid before you?”

Outside the arena, Bulma could hear the soft breeze and the sweet song of a Mizuka sea bird flitting about around the beams.  These reminders of the life she still possessed were all the more crushing when she lifted her eyes to look at Vejiita.  He sat, staring directly at her, his chin resting lightly between his thumb and fingers.  Raditsu had come to stand by the Elite Guard, and he regarded her with much the same intensity.

“Councilman,” she said steadily while she locked eyes with Vejiita.  “Councilman, I’m afraid that I must plead guilty.”

The arena burst into a flurry of murmurs and disturbed whispers.  Vejiita broke her gaze and pressed his thumb and forefinger against each temple.  Surely he knew, Bulma thought, that this would not mean her redemption.  But perhaps in this she could show them all… She could show them how a deep, vengeful rage had softened to a desperate bid for survival.

“Bulma-kalzan,” the Councilman interrupted the murmurs of the crowd.  “The Council will record your plea.”  He gestured to the female science officer behind him, who pressed a few buttons on her own holo device and regarded Bulma with a disturbed curiosity.

“We have been asked to review the case of your fate.”  The officer on the dais continued.  “And so I must require that you answer us:

“You came to Vejiita-sei eight years ago, the property of the fleet ship _Ghana,_ where you had been placed by soldiers under a garrison headed by Aash’an Raditsu.  Is this correct, Bulma-kalzan?”

She nodded, remembering very suddenly and with remarkable clarity the freezing cells on the fleet ship.  Her teeth ground together at the memory of those long hours – at the memory of her first master and the way she had fought to keep her dignity among the animals aboard that ship.

“According to the Aash’an Raditsu, it was on the slaver ship _Mahelka_ that you were finally transferred to science quarters and discovered constructing plasma rifles.  It is his testimony that he purchased you as a house slave, and that you dwelt in his household for six years.  The Aash’an testifies that you were, for your part, an obedient house slave and loyal _shal’gata_ who did not deny her master as a slave lover.”

Bulma could not help the flare of her nostrils, the quirk of her mouth, or her glance at Raditsu.  The tall Saiya-jin was regarding her now with a heavy glare, though no malice could be detected.  The fool…  He was trying to save her, too.

“If that is the opinion of Aash’an Raditsu,” Bulma said pointedly, “I will not contend.”

The officer snorted quietly, threw one glance toward Raditsu and then back to her.  She saw that Raditsu had not stopped looking at her, but that his glare had turned dangerously satisfied.

“In fact,” the Councilman declared, “it seems that your true quest for rebellion did not truly begin until your arrival on Mizukashi.  Since Shakan Brolli is not here to testify, I will elaborate;

“You were given willingly to him by Aash’an Raditsu, and as his lover the Kassha’hal granted you your citizenship via his sovereign rule on Mizukashi, yes?”

“Yes, Councilman.  The Kassha’hal was most kind to me.”  Bulma said with emphasis.

“He entrusted you with scientific development on Mizukashi, for the benefit of the Empire’s expansion efforts and the protection of its citizens.”

“Yes, of course, that was his intention--?”

“But you subverted these efforts, unbeknownst to him, and used your citizenship to conspire against the King, his crown prince and the Kassha’hal – who had graciously given you this gift!”

“You misunderstand all of my efforts, Councilman—!”

“Do we misunderstand your malice, Bulma-kalzan?”  His voice rose until it echoed off the ki absorption walls she had commissioned herself in this very palace.  “Your off-world base on Mizukashi’s moon for the construction of your encapsulation technology; your covert meetings with Aisu-jin Emperor Furiza and your Mizuka-jin rebels; your plasma containment devices designed to melt insides and overwhelm Saiya-jin power?  Do we misunderstand those efforts, Bulma-kalzan--??”

“NO!”  She shouted the word so loudly that he own voice boomed off the walls and around the dome of the arena.  “No…” She said it again quietly, as though the word would somehow seep into the floor beneath her and disappear.

No one spoke then.  Bulma dared a glance at Vejiita, who watched her with the same anxious anticipation as he had moments ago.  Raditsu stared hard at the floor.  When she looked back at the Council, they regarded her with anticipatory disdain.

“Yes,” she said finally.  “Yes…  I conspired to rebel against the monsters who destroyed my world and left me to freeze to death on their fleet ship.  I wanted nothing more than this vengeance – I was steeped body and soul in its fruition, and everything I did in that regard was without thought to the consequences.  I never dreamed that…?”

Bulma stopped and looked at the floor.  She could feel every black eye in the arena boring into her with such anger and confusion that it nearly paralyzed her.  But she looked back to the Council when the officer began to speak again.

“You never dreamed, _what_ , Chikyuu-jin _ku’fuu_?”

Her nose wrinkled.  No one had called her that in many years.  No one had referred to her as an inferior refugee from a dead planet since her institution on the slave ship, whispering it cruelly in her ear or spitting the slur at her feet.  Bulma ground her teeth together before she let her lip curl openly.  Dimly, from the corner of her eye, she could see that Vejiita was now standing.

“I never dreamed that I would shed tears of remorse as I watched Brolli dying – defying the Aisu-jin ki-dampening orbs and destroying himself from the inside out.  All so he could save me…”

She paused, and noted that the members of the Council were still waiting.  Bulma swallowed, but her throat convulsed and rejected that comforting reflex.  They waited…  They all waited, those ridiculous, stupid monkeys!!  A ghostly smile came and went so quickly on her face that it had hardly been there at all.  Bulma took one more deep breath.

“I never dreamed that in my own eyes I would see the same murderous tyranny I sought to defeat.”

Silence again flooded the arena, and the officer who accused her was looking at the other Council members behind him.  He picked up his holo device again, and looked back to Bulma.  This time, the hateful amusement in his mouth was not so cruelly defined.  She blinked finally, unaware that her eyes had been open for a long moment.

“Yes, you mention this remorse…”  The Councilman continued.  “According to Aash’an Raditsu you were instrumental in the rescue of Vejiita-Zarshon, and in the de-cloaking of the Aisu-jin fleet ships; resulting in the termination of _Shafuri_.

“The King himself has testified that you defied Emperor Furiza’s direct orders to you, and that you attempted to save the Kassha’hal Brolli.  Squad Commander Bardock, despite that he mourns the death of his son Kakarot, has also issued statement in your favor.”

Bulma folded her hands again and glanced back at her feet.  She thought of the Commander, his fallen son…  Of Raditsu and of the day he confessed his love for her.  She remembered Brolli, and how her name had been the dying plea of a legendary warrior.  She thought of Vejiita – the one who had unmasked her and… had he claimed her heart in the process?  Perhaps…  Yes, perhaps.  And maybe that cruel realization was the most difficult acceptance…

“Councilman,” she said finally, after a long pause.  “You know my plea.  It is true I have sinned against you; the Empire, and Vejiita-Zarshon and that I lament these sins. And now I will tell you, that I have never wanted so very much to live.  Even if I must spend my life in penance, to live amongst the Saiya-jin would--?”

Bulma’s voice faded on the final word.  To think that this raw emotion would be so easy to admit!  That the words would come with such fluidity!  The realization flooded her with relief.  Her eyes flitted back to Vejiita, who had crossed his arms and now regarded her with a gaze so apparent in its intent that she could scarcely finish her the words that had come so quickly before.  Bulma looked back at the council and, though it hurt in so many ways, she slowly dropped to her knees.  The crowd in the arena came alive with urgent whispers and gasps.  Without looking she knew, without doubt, Vejiita would be smiling sadly.

“I beg this council for mercy.”  She said; the words were like fire in her throat.  “And I beg mercy from His Majesty, Vejiita-Zarshon, without whose leniency I would already be dead…”  Bulma paused, and she closed her eyes to the contemptible sound of her own voice.

“Mercy… Mercy.  _Suukah…_ ”

 

#

 

Mizukashi’s vast oceans were bluish-green, calm and very ancient.  They were not like the oceans on Vejiita-sei.  Those oceans…  They were a deep sapphire blue, and they were younger.  The crests of monstrous, surging waves crashed ceaselessly into the jutting cliffs of the Kadrani Mountains.  From the palace in Capital City Karsus, one could be lulled to sleep by the endless symphony of the surf.  Vaguely, Vejiita realized that he would never again be soothed to sleep by those waves.  Nor would he ever lay eyes on the Capital, or sprawl lazily across a _shaDraka_ stone recliner and gaze up at the many moons on a clear night in his courtyard.  This crippling regret had not quite registered in him until now, when the initial haze of rage and the urgency of blood lust had left his body.

Vejiita breathed deeply and rubbed both hands over his face, shutting out the scenery of Mizukashi from where he waited at his seat in the arena.  It had been almost three hours since the War Council left the arena to deliberate on several matters, not the least of which being the fate of one Chikyuu-jin slave with hair the color of Mizukashi’s oceans.

Bulma stood in the very same spot she’d occupied since entering the arena at the beginning of her trial.  She was exquisite and determined in her stance, and at once the picture of humility and pride.  Two guards stood diligently to her side, just behind her.

 _The gods damn her_ …  Even now, when Vejiita looked at her he felt his chest grow warm with some sick combination of hatred and desire.  She was a proven traitor, a masterful liar and quite the accomplished manipulator and yet… Yet, some part of him still wanted to possess her above all things:  to prove to her that she could not break him, as he had promised her he would.  And then there were the tears she had shed – the ones she had shed to him shamelessly in that cell on Furiza’s ship, and the ones she had shed for Brolli as he lay dying.  Vejiita shook his head furiously.

Could he have demanded that she be given over to him as his slave again, and saved from the trail of death merely because he wanted her to be?  Naturally, yes, the rule of the Saiya-jin Royal House was absolute in these matters.  But Vejiita knew the power of the mob.  If he acted against common consensus, as his father had done too many times to count, then his rule would be one filled with distrust and wary respect.  No… No, he wanted something more.  In this time of war with a formidable foe, Vejiita would need absolute loyalty and unquestioning obedience in all things. 

“Vejiita-Zarshon?  _Suukah._ ”  One of his guards was addressing him.  “The Council, Sire… They have returned.”

Vejiita watched as they entered the arena and returned to their places at the east arc.  Somehow, there was the faintest hint of hesitance in their steps.  The officer who had questioned Bulma earlier remained standing as his comrades took their seats.  Vejiita could feel the tension in the arena, thick as a bowl of stew.  The murmurs around him made frazzled, broken endings of his nerves; and the longer he stared at Bulma, at his blue-haired, beautifully wicked Chikyuu-jin lover, his all too present irritation exploded around him. 

Vejiita stood abruptly, the jal’a flaring around him in a dome of blue fire.

“SILENCE!”  He bellowed out into the arena.  Each pair of black, Saiya-jin eyes came to him in wide-eyed anticipation – in apprehensive awe.  They all stood and saluted him, and as he allowed his aura to settle around him again Vejiita glared menacingly at the officer.

“ _S-suukah_ , Vejiita-Zarshon.”  The officer stuttered out, and as the rest of the Saiya-jin subjects seated themselves he cleared his throat.

“Bulma-kalzan,” he began slowly.

Vejiita’s eyes narrowed at her, as she had become suddenly so very attentive that there was even a small spike in the reading of her jal’a.  Her jaw was set in a square of resolute apprehension.  Dimly, his legs burned at the sight of her – at the memory of her thighs pressed up against them.  He nearly growled aloud.

“Bulma-kalzan,” the officer said again, “we have been meticulous in the review of your case:  your plea for mercy.”

Vejiita could see Bulma’s chest rise and fall heavily, her lungs no doubt full to the brim with precious oxygen.  Yet in her large, cerulean eyes he could see a desperate hope.  She opened those poisonous lips to speak.

“I am at the disposal of this Council,” she said, almost quietly.  “And of Vejiita-Zarshon.”

 _All the gods damn her…_   Every curve of her body, every wave of her alien, exotic hair and every glint of brilliance in her gaze made Vejiita suddenly aware of the most crushing reality; he wanted her alive.  There was no doubt in this, and it set his skin on fire with rage.  His fingers slowly clenched into a fist, and he pressed it down into the arm rest of his seat until he thought it would cave under the pressure.

“Very well.”  The Councilman finally replied.  He glanced briefly up at Vejiita, and then back to his charge.  “Of course you know, Bulma-kalzan, that in light of your plea and the evidence against you we have no choice but to find you guilty on all charges.”

There were murmurs again from the crowd, but Vejiita noted with some surprise that there were a few hisses of disappointment.  Bulma’s hands were clutched tightly in front of her tunic, and her fingertips were white.  Vejiita’s own fist was beginning to prickle from blood loss, but he continued to press down on the arm rest until he felt his skin begin to bruise.

Could he live with her death sentence, he wondered?  If the Council declared her sentence to execution, would he allow it?  _Vash’halla_ … The idea of her fate being anyone’s decision but his--!!

A crack ran down the stone arm rest that Vejiita had pressed into with his fist, and one of the guards spoke his name in uneasy inquiry.  _Say it!_ He willed that self-important, pompous bastard officer standing on the dais.  _Say it and be done with it!!_

“However,” the officer continued, “our deliberation continued longer that we had anticipated.  In review of testimonies from Aash’an Raditsu, and in light of your efforts to protect and serve your masters despite your treachery, we have decided that you are to live, Bulma-kalzan.”

Vejiita’s fist came unclenched.  His legs stopped burning and the odd feeling of heaviness left his chest.  Suddenly the fog of his gods-damned emotions cleared.  He saw then that Bulma, usually so careful to hide, was smiling.  She was smiling a real smile that tore across her face like a silken ribbon.  She was gasping now, and her hands had come apart.  They grasped for something in the empty air around her, and as she lost her footing one of the guards behind her reached out to steady her on her feet.  Only then did Vejiita note the shocked thrum that echoed through the crowd – the soft purr of awe.

“Further--!”  The Councilman had raised his hand to the crowd.  “Further, Bulma-kalzan, you will be reinstated as a servant to the Saiya-jin Empire under the Royal Household.  There, as the property of Vejiita-Zarshon, he will decide your status in his house.”

Above the din of the crowd, Vejiita watched her.  And though the world was spinning around the both of them, she looked right at him.  It was only the two of them, and when she found a stronghold in his gaze, her breath calmed.  She was relieved, was she?  Relieved…  Vejiita held her gaze for a monstrously long moment, and Bulma pressed her lips together as though she had seen it coming all along.

Vejiita stood and crossed both arms over his armored chest as he gazed at her.  His mouth quirked, turned up, and he smirked.

 

#

 

Much later, when the fever of her death haze had calmed and the strong beat of her heart had slowed to a resting pace, Bulma stood at the balcony inside the Governor’s quarters of the palace.  The salty, humid air from Mizukashi’s western sea caressed her skin.  Though the evening was quite warm, the sun had set and only small waves of light danced over the endless crests of ocean.  Her skin turned to gooseflesh, and the tunic she wore did little to contain her body heat.

From here, the lights in Geishan were blinking to life.  The city sparkled with all the intensity she knew from her time here and, though it was difficult, she desperately tried to put Brolli’s crumpled, defeated form to rest in her mind.  It was easy, when Vejiita was near to her – his presence seemed to wash away regret and replace it only with a vehement desire to survive in his world.  Was he a comfort?  No, certainly not, as he had told her before.  But something in his countenance, his unyielding aura, made her afraid of her own shadow.  Perhaps this was because, for so long, her shadow chased after her for the peace of death.

Mere hours had passed since the final decision of the Council in her case, and now they deliberated still on the next course of action in this unprecedented war with Yuki-sei.  Where was Furiza, she wondered?  So far, no Saiya-jin technology had been able to track him down.  Squad 5 had returned to its post despite the protestations of Bardock, who had wished to remain on Mizukashi and take up arms with Raditsu and Turles.  His pain was evident, even if he did not admit to it outwardly.  His face was so like Raditsu’s that she had seen the hurt there even as he argued his position.  Not long after that, Vejiita had sent her back here to wait…

When the security panel _blipped_ in the room behind her, Bulma did not look back.  She did not prostrate herself, as a proper slave should, and she did not even greet him with a customary “ _suukah_ ”, to show her status below him.  He was behind her in less than a moment.  She could feel that his armor was gone, and his hands were bare when they gripped the balcony railing on either side of her body.  His chest pressed against her back, and the heat he gave was enough to calm the gooseflesh on her bare arms.  Vejiita’s voice came with a throaty sigh, and his cool breath on her neck suddenly sent shockwaves of need through her.

“The Council will remain until late in the night.”  He said with flat affect.  Bulma nodded.  The sea breeze sent locks of her unbound hair coasting over his shoulders.

“There is much to be done.”  She said in reply.

“So, my little Chikyuu-jin,” he said quietly.  So quietly that it tickled her ear.  This time his voice was full of an emotion she could not name.  But it was dark…  Dark and unpredictable.

“Where do we go from here?”

Bulma gulped down the sob that had inexplicably crawled up her throat and lodged itself there.  How she wanted to answer him!

“From here, Vejiita-Zarshon?  I could not say.”

There was finality in this, she thought.  There was finality in the words she spoke.  She noted that there were pods taking off from the starport near the west wing of the palace, and their departure was somehow symbolic.  Those pods… They were the small remnants of her vengeance.  So small, and becoming distant as they left the evening sky and broke Mizukashi’s atmosphere – yet they were there, a symbol.  A reminder.  Bulma sighed, and she turned to face Vejiita in the dying light.  There were, yet, no lights coming from the chamber, and his heavy gaze was at once frightening and relieving.  Her reluctant salvation…

Vejiita breathed against her mouth and leaned closer.  Why so handsome, she thought?  Why did he make her want to live, though his goal had been to destroy her?  Unthinking, she reached up to touch the hard line of his jaw, and then the curve of his neck.

“From here,” he said, “I will become a King.  You will see, Bulma-kalzan.  By the time we find Furiza, I will have gained the strength to defeat him.  There is nothing to stop me this time.  Not even you…”

Bulma smiled sadly.  Yes, not even she could stop him even if she wanted to.  _Damn his soul to hell and back!!_   And though her soul rebelled, she remembered her desire for life.  Perhaps in enough time, she may even gain back her status as a citizen.  But that would take time.  And work…  She tilted her chin upward and kissed him on the lips, once, lingering there for a moment.  _And what work it would be…_

When Vejiita returned her kiss more urgently, and left her mouth to come to her neck, his hands gripped the balcony railing harder.  Bulma heard the quiet _click_ of stone pieces on the floor under them, and she smiled against his kisses.

“Yes, Vejiita-Zarshon.  Not even me…”

“Do not forget my vow, _Shall’la_.  I will not make this easy on you.”

Dear gods above, she hoped not.

“I know that, Vejiita.  I know it.”

 

**_Requiem In Blue – End_ **

**_To be continued…_ **


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